


a beautiful son

by firetan



Category: Nurarihyon no Mago | Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Trans, Closeted Character, Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Honest Discussions Of Bodily Functions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Transphobia, Misgendering, Multi, Not Everyone Is Queer But Most Of Them Are, Panic Attacks, Slow To Update, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 83,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetan/pseuds/firetan
Summary: Rikuo is not a girl. Even if he wears his hair a bit long, and flinches when the teachers call for 'Nura, Rika' during attendance. He's not a girl, but if he can't keep such a small secret, how can he hope to keep a much larger (and much more dangerous) one?

  (Someday, he will learn that there will always be a time for secrets to end.)





	1. prelude: realization

The first time she had transformed, Rika just knew something was different. 

It wasn't just that her hair grew long, bursting out of the stubby braids Kejōrō always insisted on putting it in and flowing behind her the way her father's had while he was still alive. It wasn't just that her voice deepened and her limbs grew stronger, or the thrum of power pulsing beneath her skin in a way it hadn't before. It wasn't just that her shoulders were broader, she stood taller, and there was something between her legs that hadn't been there before.

What was different was how right it felt to be that way.

For years, Rika had known that being a girl was a little weird. She always wished she didn't have to wear her hair long and pretty, she hated the pale pink yukata she was supposed wear around the house and resented the fact that she couldn't dress like her grandfather instead. When she grew up, she wanted to be like her father, not like her mother or Kejōrō or either of the Yuki Onna. But at the time, she had just assumed that it was because her father was the Second Head, and she knew without a doubt that she wanted to become his successor.

Now, though, she realized that it wasn't quite the same. She still wanted to be the Third, more than ever, but she— no, that was it. Rika wasn't a she, really. Rika was a he and his yōkai form felt right because it was the way the rest of him was supposed to be.

He cut through Gagoze ( _traitor, terrible traitor, murderer trying to kill his humans his people his friends_ ) like cutting through butter, butter that crunched here and there and spat blood across his black yukata as he flicked it off of his sword. His classmates watched in fear, or was that wonder? He realized they didn't recognize him, not like this, not as what he was beginning to realize was his true self. They likely saw him as a monster, blood-splattered and sword shining in the moonlight, and the thought made something in his chest clench even as he delivered his verdict and execution.

They returned to the main house, a new night parade of a hundred demons, and Rika planted his feet and crossed his arms and declared. "I am Nura Ri…" A pause, because Rika didn't sound right anymore, and even at eight years old he knew that he would need a name they could take seriously. "I am Nura Rikuo, son of Nura Rihan and grandson of Nurarihyon, and I am going to become the Third Head of the Nura clan. One day, you will all follow at my back as my Night Parade of a Hundred Demons."

And then he promptly collapsed.


	2. the careful one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really okay that the board won't vote for him. Rikuo's not sure he would vote for him, either. Besides, he can still do his best to take care of the clan even without becoming the Third Head, so it's not like it really matters all that much, right?

"… And the appointment of the Third Head is yet again postponed."

Nurarihyon sighed, crossing his arms. For the third year now, he'd been unable to convince the board to vote for appointing the next Head of the clan. He could hardly blame them, though — his grandson, who had been so vocal about his goals as a child, currently didn't even believe himself worthy of becoming the leader he had all the potential to be. And without his confidence in himself, it wasn't unreasonable of the board to refuse to have confidence in him as well.

He was sure that Rikuo would have been able to convince them much sooner, if only so many in the clan didn't whisper behind his back. Murmuring that 'she' was only playing as a boy to take the position, or that 'she' would never be strong enough to fill 'her' father's shoes. His grandson had been strong at first, but over the years the combination of the whispers and struggle to stay closeted without losing his mind had begun to wear on the boy.

It was a pity, Nurarihyon mused as he watched his grandson get ready for school, hair tugged into a low ponytail and a borrowed boy's uniform hanging awkwardly on his shoulders and clinging to his hips, that Rikuo felt he couldn't be honest about who he was in the human world. Considering how the yōkai world was treating him, though, it really wasn't much of a surprise.

Shouldering his backpack and sliding the slim, rectangular glasses onto his nose, Rikuo paused in front of his grandfather. "Remember, no stealing from people who can't afford it. Evil deeds don't have to be cruel deeds, and you can make people fear you without harming them. Oh, one of the nature spirits in the forest needs help fixing her shrine, so make sure to send someone over today." He tugged at his uniform shirt, grimacing at the way it didn't quite disguise the flare of his hips. "And really, it's okay about the board. Better to take time with it anyways, rather than rushing in. Well, I'm off. See you later, Gramps."

The First Head sighed again, watching his grandson run out of the yard and hop on his bike. It really was a pity that Rikuo was stuck like this, and Nurarihyon dearly wished he would move forward soon.

 

* * *

 

Rikuo sighed, not bothering to look behind him at the person he could hear walking over as he parked his bike. "Look, Tsurara, I told you I don't need you to come to—"

"Huh? Who's Tsurara?"

Glancing back, his eyes flickered wide and he laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he met the gaze of his oldest (human) friend. "Oh, er, sorry, Kana." She continued to give him an expectant look, so as they walked he explained, "Tsurara's my friend from one of the other classes — 2-A, I think. She moved in nearby a few years ago, so we met in the neighborhood. For some reason, she insists on walking me to school, like I'm a kid or something."

Kana nodded. "Oh, okay."

About to respond, Rikuo was cut off by someone flinging their arms over his shoulders, and a head of short dust-colored hair knocked against his. "Hey, Rika! Do you have the thing?"

"Oh, lay off of her, Jirō!" Kana pushed the football-fanatic boy off of her friend, crossing her arms. "Rika's not your personal homework slave!"

Flinching at the use of his old name (like he always did, even after years of hearing it), Rikuo shrugged and dug into his bag for the papers. He hadn't been doing Jirō's homework, per se — just editing it. They had a sort of system worked out — he'd help Jirō with his schoolwork, since the boy was always so busy with sports, and in return Jirō would continue letting him use his spare uniform (though the other seemed a little puzzled at Rikuo's apparent cross-dressing obsession). "It's fine, Kana. Here you go — I fixed some of the kanji, but there were a few sentences I just couldn't parse out."

"Thanks!"

The three friends made their way to the classroom, shoving each other's shoulders and bantering. Standing behind Kana and Jirō as they discussed one of the lessons from the day before, Rikuo tugged yet again at the hem of his shirt in discomfort. Just five more years, he reminded himself, and then he'd be able to transfer somewhere else where nobody would know him and he could use the right name and the right pronouns at last. This year was especially tough, because he'd gotten his period over the summer and hated having to deal with it, both at home and at school.

The thought that kept him going to class today was that Kejōrō and Kubinashi had promised to look into making him some special binders that wouldn't hurt his back or hamper his breathing, in case he ended up fighting while wearing one. They'd said they might have a design put together by the end of the week, and it was Thursday. His chest wasn't very big yet — likely the result of his yōkai form's influence, they said — but unless he found a way to stop puberty, it would continue to grow over the years (and drive him _up the wall_ because _holy hell_ were breasts uncomfortable to have).

Lunchtime arrived, and with it the sound of teens chattering and many feet rushing to get sweetbreads and rolls from the school store. As usual, Rikuo managed to get to the head of the line, darting past those of all genders who were taller and stronger than him to buy three rolls — one each for he, Kana, and Jirō. Today he bought an extra, because Jirō had tossed him a few more coins than usual and asked him to get lunch for Kiyotsugu as well, since they'd be sitting together.

To be perfectly honest, Rikuo still didn't like Kiyotsugu. He'd managed to forgive the taller boy for the elementary school bullying, but even now in as a first year in junior high the treatment had continued, albeit in the form of light sexism instead of outright mockery. Never mind the fact that Rikuo could outrun him (many times over), throw a harder punch and stay in the top percentile of their grade, Kiyotsugu seemed to be under the impression that he as a boy was naturally just a bit above girls (even an apparent cross-dressing tomboy like Rikuo). It was only subconscious, but still clearly there.

To make up for his mild resentment towards his classmate, Rikuo lobbed the roll at Kiyotsugu's head as he entered the room. The taller boy, of course, just took it in stride. "Ah, thank you, Miss Nura! Hey, would you be interested in coming with us to the old abandoned school building?"

"Huh?" Handing the other rolls to Kana and Jirō, Rikuo sat down on a desk and crossed his legs, biting into his own lunch with one eyebrow raised. "What old building?"

Jirō waved a hand at him. "You know, the one I showed you last year. They split it off from the main building when they built a road through — you can still see it from the roof, remember?"

"Oh." Rikuo did remember that, vaguely. His mother had mourned the building being cut off, since she had taken classes there when she was young. "Why do you want to go there?"

Wagging a finger at him in a manner that was mildly condescending, Kiyotsugu chuckled. "Because, Miss Nura, I believe there are yōkai dwelling there! And after school today, we're going to have an expedition to go investigate!" He grinned, leaning forward. "I should have believed you about them, back in elementary school — of course, you were still wrong about your grandfather, but now I know that yōkai are real, and I want to find them!"

"W-what?" Shit, that wasn't good. How were they going to stay hidden if people like Kiyotsugu went out looking for them? Rikuo tried to calm his beating heart, reminding himself that his classmate wasn't looking for anyone in particular. "Why would you want that?"

The grin on Kiyotsugu's face turned conspiratorial. "Because I want to meet that person again! You weren't there, Miss Nura, but he saved us during that bus accident in elementary school! The new Lord of Pandemonium!"

Double shit. Well, at least Kiyotsugu didn't realize it was him — the fact that he had never stopped calling Rikuo 'Miss Nura' was good enough evidence of that. But if Kiyotsugu was looking for him… he could start looking for the rest of the Nura clan as well, and Rikuo couldn't let that happen. Even if he never became the head, it was his family and his duty was to at least protect them.

Thinking that this was going to be a terrible idea, he sighed and shrugged. "Alright, I'll go." At least this way, he could try to warn any yōkai living there to look out and not be spotted again — especially since he'd seen an article about the building in a magazine the other day. (There had been an article about Kappa too, but he'd forgiven that because they'd been cleaning some oil out of the pond that day so Kappa had needed to go somewhere else anyways, and it was a risk they had taken to make sure his living environment was safe).

"Alright! How about you two, Miss Ienaga, Shima?"

Both students nodded, though Jirō a good deal more enthusiastically than Kana, who was looking at Rikuo with a concerned expression. Kiyotsugu pumped a fist in the air. "Fantastic! We'll meet in the courtyard after school!"

Grimacing at the thought, Rikuo waved a hand. "Um, I need to stop at my house first. An errand for my grandpa." Really, what he wanted to do was go back and change into more comfortable clothing and a binder. The uniform helped his dysphoria a little bit at school, but it was still tailored for a cis person and thus hung too loose in the shoulders and was a bit too tight at the bust and hips, and he'd rather not wear it outside of school hours since he had to wash it each night anyways.

A finger-gun was pointed his direction in response. "Great idea, Miss Nura! How about a half-hour after? That should give everyone ample time to return home and come back!" The rest of the group indicated their agreement, and Kiyotsugu jumped off of the desk he had been seated on. "Alright, I'll go let the others know!"

Watching him dart out of the room, Kana turned to Rikuo and Jirō in confusion. "The others?"

"Some upperclassmen." Jirō shrugged, taking a big bite out of the roll he hadn't started eating yet. "They overheard him talking about it yesterday and said they'd be interested. The girl was really cute, but the guy was kind of weird."

"Huh."

 

* * *

 

Rikuo couldn't resist smacking himself in the face. "Tsurara, why are you here?"

"What? Miss Nura, Miss Oikawa, you two know each other?" Kiyotsugu looked between the two with a surprised grin.

The young Yuki Onna laughed in delight. "Oh, Rika and I live next to each other! I'm her honorary big sister, aren't I?" She glanced sideways at the taller boy who was standing next to her with his arms crossed. "And Shirō's the big brother, aren't you?"

"Of course."

Rikuo shot Kubinashi — because of course that's who it was — a sour expression. Well, at least that was obnoxiously accurate. "Seriously, why are you guys here? I thought you didn't want to get into this sort of thing." Flicking his hands by his side in discrete finger-sign, he added, _'I thought you were just here to keep an eye on me, not to follow me everywhere'_.

The fair-haired yōkai-in-disguise shrugged, wrapping the thick knitted scarf a bit tighter around his supposed neck and raising one eyebrow at his part-human charge. "Sounded interesting. Do you not want us here, Rika?" He had to take a moment to say the old name, forcing the second syllable past his lips with a barely-concealed grimace. Kubinashi was the single staunchest supporter of Rikuo's gender identity, regularly threatening to literally string up the board members that continued to disparage and mis-gender him, and still found it difficult to play along in the human world. He wanted to respect Rikuo's decision to stay closeted, though, so he was doing his best.

Sighing, Rikuo shook his head, tugging the red haori a bit tighter over his shoulders so he could tie it closed over the plain tank top and chest binder he had on underneath. Coupled with a basic pair of cargo shorts (that had an elastic waistband, thank the gods) and his sneakers, the outfit fit far more comfortably than the school uniform (and was masculine to boot), for which he was grateful. Everyone else had also changed into casual clothing, including Kubinashi and Tsurara, who were both wearing long scarves — Kubinashi's thick and blue, Tsurara's a bit lighter and patterned with stripes and flowers.

"Fantastic!" Clapping his hands together, Kiyotsugu looked around at the group. "Er, would you two mind introducing yourselves to the rest of us? We can't all live near each other, of course."

Tsurara giggled, hooking one arm through one of Rikuo's and fixing her scarf with the other to make sure her ice-cold breath didn't touch anybody. "I'm Oikawa Tsurara, from class 2-A, nice to meet you all!"

The expectant gazes turned to Kubinashi, who sighed heavily and started fiddling with the cats-cradle game he'd begun playing while they were talking. "Ayatori Shirō, also 2-A. It's nice to meet you, please take care of me." Rikuo resisted the urge to smack himself in the face, because the rest of his human friends seemed a bit confused at the contrast of the yōkai's I-don't-give-a-fuck tone and his relatively formal speech pattern.

He signed as much to Kubinashi, who raised an eyebrow and tucked away his cats-cradle thread in a hidden pocket with a mildly amused smile. Flicking his own fingers, the yōkai responded, _'Not giving a fuck doesn't mean I can't be polite, Young Master'_.

"Woah, you guys know sign language?"

Jirō's eyes were wide and intrigued, and Rikuo sighed and once again restrained himself from harming his forehead in exasperation. Instead, he forced a loose grin, glancing at Kubinashi and back as though sharing a memory. "Just a bit. Shirō's cousin is deaf, so he grew up learning it. Started teaching me a few years ago, right?"

"Indeed."

In reality, while it had been Kubinashi who taught Rikuo the yōkai finger-sign language, it was for two entirely different reasons. The first was simply that it was a universal language that could be used between any yōkai, even those without means of verbal communication or indeed fingers, because the base motions were simple enough to mimic with any sort of limb or phalange. The second was that finger-sign had proven to be very useful in battle, as it was a way for the commander to communicate with their troops even when it was too loud to be heard, and Nurarihyon himself had used it to great advantage when gaining power as the Lord of Pandemonium.

Kubinashi, whose hands and fingers were incredibly dexterous due to his fighting style, was one of the most skilled in the Nura clan at complex finger-sign, and thus it had been him who taught it to Rikuo as a child (in between games of cats cradle, of course). Following Rihan's death, the two had begun a habit of communicating in finger-sign while holding other conversations, both to practice and to provide support for each other as two of the individuals who were most affected by the Second's death (the others being Wakana, Nurarihyon himself, and Setsura — though the older Yuki Onna was loathe to admit how much she had mourned the half-yōkai she had helped raise).

Back in the present moment, Kiyotsugu explained his plan to the group, pointing out the road and how they would wait to cross it and then enter the old building. Glancing to one side, Rikuo could see Kubinashi subtly winding threads around his fingers, preparing himself for the off-chance that something might go sideways and put them in need of a rescue. On the other, Tsurara was tapping one foot anxiously on the ground, and beside her Kana looked nervous but determined. Lastly, Jirō — sandwiched between Kubinashi and Kiyotsugu — seemed to be restraining himself from running off immediately, the nervous energy that he usually worked off during football practice escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

Assured that everyone was on the same page, their organizer turned and lead them up the ramp to the road, peering over the guardrail and watching as a few cars zoomed across before they crossed as a group (some vaulting over the guardrail like Kubinashi and Rikuo, some climbing, and Jirō just leaping clean across it like a kangaroo). They whacked through a few overgrown bushes to reach the door, which opened with a suitably eerie creaking noise.

The inside of the old school building was dark and dusty, the windows boarded up and appropriately cobwebbed. The overhead lights weren't on — either the building had no power (likely, since the heating system seemed to be off as well), or they were broken and hadn't been fixed since the building was out of use. The tiled floor was spotted with water damage and missing a few pieces, creating indents and even one or two holes that only Kiyotsugu's flashlight saved them from, and most of the doors they passed (locker doors and classroom doors alike) seemed to be half off their hinges or otherwise broken in some way. It was, all said, quite suitably eerie — and a perfect environment for many non-human creatures to inhabit. Already, the sound of rats (or something possibly worse) skittering through the walls had told them they weren't alone in the unused building.

Leaning over to Tsurara, Rikuo muttered under his breath as they walked further inside, "Hey, keep an eye on the others for me? I've got a bad feeling about this place."

"Huh?" Words covered by the echoes of their feet tapping on the floor, she looked back at him in surprise. "Master Rikuo? But what are you going to—"

He shook his head, nudging his bangs away from his eyes with one hand and glancing around warily. "Nothing, at least I don't intend to, but if we get separated I want you to stay with them." Reaching sideways as the group slowly made their way upstairs, guided by the light of Kiyotsugu's flashlight, Rikuo lightly gripped the sleeve of Kubinashi's jacket. "Between the two of you, you're much better suited to protect — no offense, Kubinashi."

"None taken." The neckless yōkai shrugged nonchalantly, gently pulling his sleeve away and instead winding a thin string — softer than his usual fare — around Rikuo's pinky finger and tucking the rest of the length into one of his pockets. "If we are separated, you stay with me and Tsurara will guard your friends."

"Exactly."

Plan set, Tsurara twirled on her heel and hung back a bit to walk with Kana and Jirō, easily drawing them into a cheerful discussion. At the head of the group, Kubinashi was dragged into a relatively one-sided conversation with Kiyotsugu, while Rikuo stayed a pace or two ahead of them all, eyes scanning the hallways and rooms for yōkai activity. He couldn't transform at will yet — he knew he did transform, but had no way to do it on purpose or remember his actions while transformed — but his closest allies within the clan had begun teaching him how to harness the dormant Fear in his veins. Not his grandfather, of course — Nurarihyon had never seemed to outwardly disapprove of Rikuo, but the old yōkai never went out of his way to help him or support him either.

No, it had been Setsura first, under the pretext of teaching her daughter some more advanced tricks. She'd eyed him through the entire lesson, fuchsia gaze stern and unyielding, and a small smile had crept onto her pale lips when he tried to mimic what she was doing and managed to nudge a cabinet door shut with a forceful application of the energy that he then learned was his Fear. Tsurara had been especially excited, picking him up and swinging him around with joy while exclaiming about all of the interesting things they could learn now until her mother gently reminded her that his Fear would have limits just as hers did, and there would be many things that one could do that the other would never achieve.

The excitement died down a bit after that, but from that point on the two Yuki Onna and his other closest allies had made sure he was well educated on basic uses of Fear. He learned how to use it as a force to move things, hold things, and defend himself from Kubinashi and Kejōrō, while Karasu Tengu — one of his few supporters among the higher-ups of the clan — mentored him in how to sense and read it. Kurotabō and Aotabō sometimes took time to give him physical training as well, since the skill of one's body was just as important as their skill in controlling their Fear when it came to battle.

All this granted him the ability to subtly manipulate the thread Kubinashi had given him — already deceptively strong despite its tactile softness — to shut doors and close windows before any of the yōkai beyond them could get to or even see his human friends, binding them tight so that they wouldn't open again until he let them. The slamming spooked Kana and excited the boys, but Rikuo didn't care as long as they were safe from harm.

Under his breath, he sighed and nudged Kubinashi with one shoulder. "We're going to need to come back here later to talk with these guys, aren't we? Make sure to go over guidelines and new developments — especially if Kiyotsugu goes back and spreads rumors about this place."

"Good plan. Tomorrow night?"

"If I can finish my homework for English beforehand, sure."

The neckless yōkai snorted. "Why don't you just ask your mother for help?"

"Huh, Mom?" Rikuo's face took on a surprised countenance. "How come?"

"Ah, well," Grinning slightly, Kubinashi wound more thread between his fingers and turned to face his charge completely, "Before Lady Wakana met Master Rihan, she was studying to go to a human university overseas. She wanted to visit London, I believe, and become a historian. I suppose it's part of why she was so accepting of all _this_ — history used to be her passion. And with how long we yōkai live compared to humans, marrying into the Nura clan would have been rather like meeting history in person." He shrugged. "Anyhow, since she was planning on going to university in London, her English is quite good."

It was times like these that Rikuo wished he knew more about his human heritage. Nobody had ever told him what his mother had wanted to do when she was younger, or even anything about her family. Were her parents still alive? Did she have siblings? It was as though everyone thought that his yōkai roots were the only roots worth knowing about. "Thanks for telling me — I'll ask her when I get home."

"Of cou—"

Whatever Kubinashi had been about to say was cut off by a shriek from down the hall, and at once they realized that while they'd been talking the others had gone ahead without them. Swearing more decoratively than anyone his age should, Rikuo took off at a run, Kubinashi following close behind with threads strong as steel winding instinctually through his fingers.

Slamming open the doors to what Rikuo figured was the old cafeteria of the building, they discovered Tsurara standing defensively between their human companions and a group of scavenger yōkai who appeared to have been disturbed from their meal by the presence of fresh meat. She hadn't transformed yet, but there were already ice crystals forming in the air around her.

Shit. If he didn't move fast, his friends would find out. Lunging into the room, Rikuo barreled into the three frightened humans and shoved them behind the cover of an overturned table, ensuring that they were both safe and unable to see the rest of the room. "Just stay here — we'll take care of this."

"Rika? What are you—?"

"No time!" He darted out from behind the table, drawing the large sake bowl from the inner fold of his haori and a sealed bottle of the drink itself from one of the pockets of his shorts. Kubinashi had already restrained the scavengers with strands of red string, and Tsurara was subtly reinforcing the table-shield with layer upon layer of ice that wouldn't be noticed by the humans hiding behind it. Rikuo had been very clear about what _was_ and _wasn't_ allowed around his human friends. Having spent years hiding who he was, he had a pretty good idea of how to effectively keep things concealed in plain sight. The ice on the table could be melted, the string could be removed, and this—

He splashed the sake into the bowl, swirling it and blowing it forward with a breath of Fear that lit it on fire. The flames quickly consumed the ragged bodies of the scavengers, already-decrepit flesh burning away into ash. Once they'd discovered that he could perform Meikyō Shisui in his human form, Wakana and Setsura had both insisted on him carrying the bowl and bottle of sake whenever he could, as it would be his strongest defense in that form when not at home (where he could be both armed and better-protected).

Tsurara blew a gust of freezing-cold air on the smoldering cinders, completely extinguishing the flames, and waved away the ice on the surface of the table. While Kubinashi drew back his string, Rikuo leaned around the table and plastered a cheerful smile onto his face. "Come on out, it's safe now. Just a couple homeless guys — they've left. Kana, are you alright?"

His closest human friend appeared to have been crying, and she threw her arms around his shoulders as she stood, expression tearful. "It was scary, Rika! And you just shoved us away, and then something _screamed_ —"

"Hey, do you think they were yōkai?"

Exasperated — _really, couldn't the boy give it a rest_ — Rikuo glared at Kiyotsugu with unrestrained disdain. "Oi, really not the appropriate question to be asking! Yōkai or not, it was dangerous to come here, and we should go back now before we run into someone worse!" Letting Kana wrap one hand around his, he stood and waved a hand at his yōkai companions. "Tsurara, Shirō, let's head home. I bet Kino'll have dinner ready."

"Huh? Who's Kino, Rika?" Scrambling to his feet, Jirō draped his arms over Rikuo and Kana's shoulders with more enthusiasm than he really should have had, considering the danger they'd just been in. "A big sis? Is she hot? Why haven't I met her?" Beside him, Kiyotsugu looked vaguely disappointed at the (apparently) somewhat anticlimactic ending to their excursion.

Rikuo groaned as he slipped the sake bowl back into the fold of his haori — Kejōrō would not be pleased with Jirō's interest, no matter how genuinely nice the excitable boy was on the inside. "Er, she's a— a family friend, who's been living with us. And, uh— she's, um, not into guys any shorter than a hundred-sixty centimeters!" He knew, thanks to Jirō's frequent bouts of groaning over his height, that his friend was under 140. And that Kubinashi was over 160 even without raising his head more than a normal height, but he wouldn't bother mentioning that — he knew the older yōkai was already thinking it from the faint flush on his cheeks.

"Ah, man, really?" Jirō sighed and laced his fingers behind his head as the group exited the building. "Guess she's just missing out then… ah, hey, Miss Oikawa, how tall do you like your men?"

"Over two hundred centimeters."

" _Whaaaaaat?_ Hah, that's a joke, right? You're joking— oh, come on, you've gotta be _kidding_ me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I WA S GOING TO POST T HIS LA ST NIGHT BUT MY DAD TURNED OFF THE WIFI AT M ID NIGH T AHHH H H HHHH
> 
> Anyways. Here's the official first chapter. This fic is going to go slow bc I don't have any schedule whatsoever, and it's going to end up roughly chapter-to-chapter with the manga, at least up through the Gyuuki or Shikoku arcs. So please be patient!
> 
> The other thing I want to mention: yes, this is very AU. Yes, there are lots of ripples, because Rikuo being a trans boy changes a lot about canon, and I will absolutely fight you on that. One, he didn't realize he was trans until he was NINE - that means that for the first nine years of his life, he and everyone else he knew thought he was a girl, and treated him accordingly. Second, the experience of a trans person is VASTLY different than that of a cis person of the same gender. 
> 
> You try to bitch about this in the comments, I am warning you, I will 100% fight you. (also, this is literally my AU, so get me a gif of Ron Swanson holding up his sign that says "I do what I want" because that's how it is, folks).
> 
> Anyhow, rant over, thank you very much for your patience (all 1-2 of you that are into this fic, haha)!


	3. an oath of brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should be easy to be a leader without his yōkai form, right? Because what really matters is what he does, not how he looks when he does that... doesn't it?
> 
> Maybe the form can help, though.

"You're sure you guys don't mind?"

"Well," Arms wrapped around a grocery bag, Kejōrō quirked her lips up in amusement and adjusted her grip, "It certainly is a bit disorienting, but it's nothing to worry about, Master Rikuo." She shot a glance at Kubinashi, who had two bags in each hand and a slight flush over his cheeks from the cashier calling him 'cute', and smiled a bit wider. "And I'm sure Kubinashi doesn't mind either, _right_?"

He huffed, hoisting the bags a bit higher and making a face. "Does it matter? I don't dislike it, and if it makes you feel safer in the human world, Young Master, then I'm more than willing to keep it up."

Sandwiched between the two and carrying both his schoolbag and a sixth bag of groceries (the Nura clan needed rather a lot of food, and that was _without_ mentioning how much sake they seemed to go through every week), Rikuo allowed himself a small smile. "Thanks, both of you."

He'd offered to accompany them shopping today on the way home from school, both to help out and to make sure they were doing a good job at blending into the human world when they went out. Apart from a few close calls with Kubinashi's scarf and Kejōrō nearly pummeling someone who had the bad taste to cat-call her (and if they hadn't been holding her back, Rikuo was pretty sure he and Kubinashi would have joined in), the excursion had gone quite smoothly. Frankly speaking, he was proud.

In the years since he'd awakened (to put it simply), he'd been trying to act as a good leader even without the official position, and part of that meant creating rules and making sure everyone followed them. Because yōkai weren't the dominant power anymore, he had to make sure his clan could hide in plain sight as well as he did — otherwise, they'd all be in for an eventual headache.

Rikuo liked to think he was pretty good at the whole hiding-in-plain-sight bit — after all, that was the trick to staying closeted without driving himself literally off of a building (and he did mean literally — the suicide rates in Japan, while already terribly high among young people, were even higher among trans youth, and he'd rather not be driven to become that sort of statistic). It was a delicate balance — how comfortable and non-dysphoric could he be in public without people starting to realize that he wasn't actually a girl?

In the end, it came down to the practice of a half-truth in all of his lies. He could admit certain things while omitting others, like admitting that Kubinashi had taught him sign language while omitting the reason _why_. He'd been doing his best to teach the rest of the Nura clan the same — many of the elders were either already able to or didn't give a flying fuck about blending in, but a number of the younger members and more recent additions were benefitting from the reminders.

Kejōrō and Kubinashi, since they had both been human before becoming yōkai, were some of the most adept at this — though they had needed a few lessons in current styles and affairs, since both had been yōkai for at least three hundred years.

Now, as they walked, Kejōrō rolled her shoulders and twirled around so her long skirt fluttered around her ankles. "It is a strange feeling, though, hearing an old name like that. I nearly stopped breathing when that cashier called me Kino — it was like ricocheting back a couple centuries."

"At least you _responded_." Grimacing, Kubinashi adjusted his grip on the bags and wound a few minute strings around them to balance out the weight a bit, "I keep forgetting that when people call for 'Shirō' or 'Mister Ayatori', they're talking about _me_. I don't know how Tsurara does it."

Rikuo laughed. "Don't worry about it — names take time, especially when you've had them for so long. I still automatically respond to my old name, and sometimes when you guys call me 'Rikuo' I forget for a moment that it's my name now."

"Eeh, really?"

"Yeah." Taking a moment to let go of the bag with one hand and push up his glasses, Rikuo nodded calmly. "It's probably because I'm still using both, so I've gotten a bit more used to responding to both. I figure that's kind of how it is for you too, Kubinashi." He hadn't thought about it before, but now he was especially grateful to his yōkai friends and family for taking these extra measures of caution, despite how confusing they could be. He sometimes forgot, since so many of the yōkai in his generation had given names, that many yōkai simply went by their species name and nothing else.

It was difficult to imagine doing that all the time, because then both Setsura and Tsurara would just be 'Yuki Onna', and wouldn't that be confusing! No, Rikuo liked the direction they were heading much better, because in addition to blending in better with the humans, it gave the yōkai in his clan — and it _was_ his, no matter who the board ended up voting for — another way to individualize themselves.

Kubinashi's response — head bobbing up and down in a nod, accompanied by a warm, "It is, but I suppose that's not a bad thing," — supported this notion, and Rikuo felt himself breaking into a smile yet again.

The front gates of the main house came into view, and with them the sight of Tsurara sweeping the old stone walkway to the front of the house. She glanced up and waved as they approached, eyes wide and bright as she smiled and turned to call to someone inside the gates before running up to meet them, gets sandals clacking merrily on the ground. "Welcome home, Master Rikuo, Kubinashi, Kejōrō! Come inside now — I'll take that bag, Master Rikuo, since you've got a guest waiting for you in the main room!"

Puzzled, he allowed her to lift the bag from his hands and lead the way back through the gates and to the main house, slipping off his shoes and unbuttoning the borrowed uniform shirt he hadn't had a chance to take off yet. As he sighed in relief at the lifted pressure on his chest, he glanced around to try and figure out who this guest might be. There was a box of nice traditional sweets on the floor beside the door, clearly having already been opened and rifled through by one of the other yōkai (not that he minded - he wasn't a big fan of sweets, and wasn't really too comfortable with displaying a childish interest in them, not when it and anything else of the sort could be used against him), but that told him nothing other than that the visitor was probably of a relatively high status.

Someone from the board, perhaps? Come to make nice with his grandfather and mock him? When he posed this question to Tsurara as she helped Kubinashi unload the many bags he had been carrying, she laughed outright. "Mock you, Master Rikuo? I'd hope not, or his ass will be frozen before you can say _'Tsurara, don't freeze his ass, what if someone sees'_!"

"Oi, I don't sound like that!" Not too offended by the playful teasing, Rikuo turned to Kubinashi and Kejōrō with an exaggerated pleading expression. "I don't sound like that, do I?"

The headless yōkai laughed, reaching over and rustling Rikuo's hair now that his hands were finally free of their necessary burden. "Only sometimes, Young Master. Now you should go greet your guest, whoever he is. Don't worry about us — we'll take care of the rest of this. Would you like one of us to take your schoolbag as well?"

Rikuo shook his head. "It's fine. I'll go do my homework after this anyways."

"Don't forget to ask Lady Wakana about English."

"Oh, right!" Smiling, Rikuo knocked a fist lightly against the side of his head. "I had forgotten, thanks, Kubinashi. Well, I'll see you later, then." Off to go find who this mystery guest was, then. He turned and padded down the hall, pausing twice to take off his socks and tuck them into a pocket of his schoolbag (to be put in the laundry later, because despite being an almost-teenaged boy he wasn't a _slob_ ) so he could continue the rest of the way barefoot.

Outside of the door to the main room (not to be confused with the main meeting room, or the living room), Rikuo paused to readjust his shirt and trousers with a grimace. He'd have preferred a bit of time to change into shorts and a t-shirt at least, if not a proper yukata and haori, but it wouldn't be polite to keep a guest waiting any longer, so they'd have to just take him as he was. He could put up with ill-fitting clothes and discomfort a little longer, after all.

Steeling himself against the judgement he was sure would be waiting on the other side (because why _else_ would a high-status yōkai want to talk to him nowadays), he pushed open the door and stepped into the room, a not-quite-genuine smile tugging at his cheeks.

"Hello, sorry for the wai— h-huh, _Zen?!_ "

 

 

* * *

 

Ignoring the many yōkai now obviously gathered around the door to eavesdrop on their young master and mysterious guest, Rikuo knelt down on tatami in front of his oldest childhood friend and resisted the urge to fidget with his shirt. Well, it was more of an urge to get up, run out of the room, and either hide for the rest of the afternoon or not come back until he had at least a binder on, but that wasn't necessary to admit — after all, why would he be afraid of Zen?

Intuitively, the bird yōkai seemed to notice Rikuo's discomfort, and reined in what was clearly intended to be an enthusiastic greeting for something a bit more restrained. "Hey, Rikuo. Long time no see, right? How are you?"

"Er…" Damn, he really wished he could have gone and changed into a binder. Or a yukata. Hell, a full suit of armor would feel more comfortable than Shima's spare uniform right now! "I'm fine, I guess. I mean, just, you know, normal. Making sure everyone stays safe and keeping up with my homework."

Zen raised an eyebrow. "You don't look fine. You keep looking around like you need some sort of escape route or something - do you really not wanna talk to me right now, or something?"

"No! No, no, that's not it, I'm just— that is—" _Fuck._ Sighing, Rikuo allowed his shoulders to slump a bit and confessed, "This uniform doesn't fit right, and it's just making me too uncomfortable to focus. I'm really sorry, Zen, it's not you at all, it's just—"

His friend flapped a hand at him. "Go change, then— those clothes look kinda weird anyways. I can wait." Winking, he added, "Anything for my Master, after all!"

"Urgh— we'll talk about that when I get back."

Thank the heavens for Zen! Escaping the main room and dashing up the stairs with as much dignity as he could muster, Rikuo tossed his schoolbag onto his bed and immediately shucked off the uniform top and the button-up he wore underneath. They were placed carefully on the bed, along with his pants, but the sports bra that he wore during the day was all but thrown against the wall (he'd pick it up and put it with the rest of the laundry later) as he rifled through his drawer for one of the binders his mother had ordered last year.

Tug that on, take a few deep breaths to make sure it was on right and not _completely_ destroying his ribs, and then for a proper yukata and haori — black and gold, respectively. In the past, he'd preferred a red haori (and he still wore one as casual clothing), but for more formal clothing within the clan he'd rather wear gold. It wasn't exactly _his_ culture, but as a child he'd learned that in China, one of their cultural neighbors, red was a lucky color for girls and gold was for boys. Ever since then, he'd decided that he would wear gold instead of red to emphasize his gender. You never knew who might notice and respect that sort of thing, after all.

Taking a few extra moments to put away his glasses and redo his hair (a more masculine style, with the extra hair folded up in the back instead of in a ponytail), he slipped his sword through his obi and a sake bowl and bottle into the fold of his yukata and padded more sedately back downstairs.

Zen looked up as he entered, a warmer smile breaking across the older yōkai's face. "See, you look more like yourself like that!"

"I feel like it, too. Thanks, Zen." Sighing in relief and returning to his seiza position across from the other, Rikuo folded his hands in his lap and considered his friend with what he hoped was a more serious expression. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I heard the board once again refused to vote on the position of the Third." It was a statement, not a question, so Rikuo simply held himself still and listened as Zen continued. "I would have thrown in my five yen, but I couldn't make it to the meeting — I'm sorry about that, Master Rikuo."

Flinching slightly, Rikuo raised a hand to pause his friend. " _Right_ , about that. Please, um… please don't call me 'Master' like that, Zen. I'm not officially anyone's master at the moment, and even if I were… well, you're my _friend_ more than anything else, and I'd really just rather you call me Rikuo." In his lap, his other hand tightened unconsciously against the fabric of his yukata, because he knew Zen tended to have a bit of a temper to match his unwavering loyalty, and this could be the sort of request that might set it off.

To his surprise, however, Zen just shrugged. The motion was nonchalant enough that Rikuo felt comfortable in assuming that it was honest, and not just a farce to appease him. "Okay. Felt a little weird calling the brat who used to follow me around asking about random-ass plants 'Master', anyway."

"Wha— _hey_!" Rikuo leaned forward, indignant, "I was five years old! Don't tell me you weren't a brat when you were five!"

"Hah! I was already learning how to make cold medicine when I was five!" Slouching forward to match, Zen grinned cockily. They were still for a moment like that, nose-to-nose and staring determinedly at each other, before both of them broke into laughter at the same time and leaned back again. The door, which had been closed, slid open as Tsurara entered with tea and then paused, dumbfounded, at the sight of the two young leaders trying and failing to breathe properly through guffaws.

She knelt down carefully, setting the tea down between the two, and crossed her arms. "Are you two alright? Young Master, do be careful about your breathing, you know those things compress your lungs!"

"Right, right." Pushing himself back up into a proper sitting position, Rikuo took a few deep breaths and adjusted his binder, which had begun to ride up (he hated when they did that, but it was practically unavoidable). "Thanks, Tsurara. For that and the tea, both."

She huffed, before smiling cheerily. "Of course! Now, where did you put your uniform? Mother said she'll wash it for tomorrow if you're alright with that."

"It's on my bed — tell her I'd be very grateful for it."

"Alright!"

As the young Yuki Onna left the room, Zen finally collected himself and sat back up to join Rikuo, still grinning and coughing a few times. "Haven't had a laugh like that for a while. We do have serious things to discuss, though." Crossing his arms once again, his face grew serious aside from the occasional cough. "I'm not going to lie — your grandfather asked me to visit and talk to you. He said you're why the board still won't vote."

"He's not entirely wrong." Sighing, Rikuo mimicked his friend's posture and ignored the tightening of Zen's expression as he elaborated. "Gramps thinks they won't vote because I don't have enough confidence in myself to be a worthwhile investment."

"Do you?"

Well, wasn't that the question, really? "I don't know. No, before you start," He held up one hand to ward off his companion's inevitable protest, "I know that I'd be more than able to take up the position of the Third if they let me. I've been doing my best to act as a leader without it, and the others have taught me a lot about the yōkai world." Pausing for a moment to consider how to say this without it sounding like nonsense, Rikuo pursed his lips before continuing. "I think Gramps isn't wrong, but more than my confidence, I think the board wants to wait and see if I'm stable enough to be given the responsibility."

"Huh? Stable?" Zen leaned forward, scratching the back of his neck with one hand and eyeing Rikuo. "What, do they think you're insane or something?"

"Mentally ill, yes, but not like hearing voices or anything." Making a face, Rikuo exhaled forcefully in exasperation before he explained. "I think a lot of them think I'm just pretending to be a boy so that I'll be more eligible for the position, and they're waiting to smoke me out. The rest probably just want to make sure I'm going to _live_ long enough to be a logical investment." Zen scoffed, and received a sympathetic eye-roll in return. "I know, it's stupid. But to be fair, if I become head and then commit suicide two years later, it would cause them a lot of problems."

"Suicide?"

"Because I'm a boy who was born a girl." Crossing his arms once again, Rikuo squared his shoulders and made a face. "I don't know about yōkai, but somewhere around half of the boys like me in the human world will try to kill themselves at some point — _trust_ me, I've done my research. Here in Japan, kids like that — you know, trans kids, boys who like boys or girls who like girls - we're more likely than most to be suicidal, and that's considering that rates of youth suicide in this country are already higher than average _anyway_." He shrugged. "I figure at least a few of the board members have done their research too, and it's sort of a valid concern."

This time, it was Zen's turn to make a displeased face. "But you're not, right? You don't want to die or any of that nonsense, do you?"

"I—" Well, did he? "I'm not sure. I don't right now, I think, but they're right to worry — since none of my human friends know yet, if they find out and react badly— well, that along with what people like to say behind my back here, I can't guarantee that I won't go that direction if things take a turn for the worse."

"Well, _shit_." The bird yōkai huffed and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "Looks like it's not really in either of our hands to change the board's minds, in that case. Guess your Gramps called me out here for no reason, then — I mean, aside from getting to see your dumb face, of course." He grinned, apparently nonplussed by the apparent failure, but to Rikuo the expression was starting to look a little forced. "But all said and done, I gotta head back now, since there's nothing more to say. Have to take care of my Sect, after all."

Perhaps he was just imagining it, then. Nodding, Rikuo stood and helped his friend to his feet, bracing him as Zen broke into a brief coughing fit before accompanying him to the moonlight carriage that he had travelled in. One of the Zen Sect advisors, a snake-like yōkai whose name Rikuo couldn't remember, helped Zen climb inside with a quiet, hissing comment that Rikuo couldn't quite hear well enough to understand. It could have just been him making things up, but it seemed like the snake yōkai shot him a sort of smug grin before they left.

Nah, it had to be his imagination. Maybe he'd go visit Zen soon, and ask about that guy's name while he was at it. He should know about the yōkai in the Nura clan's subordinate groups and sects, after all — it would be a mark of a good leader.

 

 

* * *

 

"Gramps, did you _really_ have to ask Zen to come all this way for something so trivial?"

Nurarihyon rolled his eyes, ignoring his grandson in favor of taking a sip of sake. In his place, it was Karasu Tengu who explained. "Your grandfather is worried, Master Rikuo. Without a Third Head, the Nura group is slowly coming apart. All of the different clans and sects that make up our syndicate are starting to pull away because we don't have a leader. The First thought that talking to your friend might help you realize how precarious the situation is."

" _I already realize it_!" Taking deep breaths to rein in his temper, Rikuo continued in a slightly calmer tone. "Look, Gramps, Karasu Tengu — I can't _do_ anything more about what the board thinks of me. I've done my best to act like a leader, I've made sure to learn as much as I can without my yōkai form, there's really not much more I can do to make them think I'm worth it." Scowling, he added, "And even if there _was_ , that's no reason to make my friend travel all this way in his condition! You know he's terminally ill, Gramps! The Nura clan isn't the only one without a next Head — think about what would happen to the Zen Sect if he were to die without an heir because _you_ kept calling him out here on _unimportant business_!"

He didn't really want to think about that, but it was a necessary consideration to take into account. While Zen's group was technically subordinate to the Nura clan, it still had its own hierarchy of command and its own leader, and things would definitely go a bit sideways if that leader were to die without leaving an heir or successor. But the thought of Zen dying left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, so Rikuo swallowed quietly and rose to leave. He didn't want to have this conversation right now. Neither Nurarihyon nor Karasu Tengu tried to stop him.

"Oh, Rikuo!" Outside of the meeting room, his mother jumped slightly in surprise and smiled warmly as she barely avoided walking right into her son. "There you are - Kubinashi told me you wanted my help with some of your homework?"

Pausing, startled by her sudden appearance, Rikuo felt himself nodding automatically. "Ah, yeah. He said you studied English a lot when you were younger, so I thought—"

"I could help you with that?" Wakana's smile brightened, and she nodded cheerfully. "Of course. Now, it's been a fair number of years since I had to use it, but I think I'll be able to be of some assistance. Would you like me to join you in your room?"

Rikuo usually did his homework and studying in his room, where he was a bit less likely to be interrupted by the general chaos that was his precious clan, but for this he shook his head. "No, that's alright. I'll study in the living room today — Zen and Gramps were kind of right, it's best to give the clan reasons to be confident in my ability, and it's hard to do that if I stay in my room all the time."

His mother sighed with the infinite loving patience of all mothers and patted his shoulder. "I understand. I'll prepare some dinner while you fetch your school things, alright? It wouldn't do to study on an empty stomach, after all."

Nodding and departing to his room to gather his notebooks and pencils (mechanical pencils, since the regular ones just tended to drive him a bit nutty), Rikuo mulled over his current position. While he hadn't been wrong in saying that there wasn't much more he could do to convince the board that he would be a worthy Third Head, it was also true that he needed to continue applying himself with as much dedication as possible to the clan. It might not ever really change their minds, but even without the position, most of the Nura clan respected him and were willing to follow his leadership where he gave it.

As he made his way quietly down the stairs and to the living room where his mother was just setting out a small dinner for both of them on the round table near one wall, he pondered over Nurarihyon's choice of asking Zen, of all people, to visit. Did his grandfather think that having the words delivered from a dear friend would somehow make him any more able to change the way things were? That might work in stories, but this wasn't some fantasy shōnen manga (even if it sometimes _felt_ that way) — things couldn't just be magically changed for the better because someone made a pretty speech.

"Worrying about Zen?"

He jolted, and realized he had sat down and started studying with his mother but couldn't remember a thing they'd been saying. A little chagrined, he shook his head and stretched his shoulders, reminding himself to breathe deep and slow because of his binder. "Just wondering why Gramps decided to invite him, of all people, to try and get me to act."

Thoughtful, Wakana mused over it for a few moments before suggesting, "Well, perhaps he thought that since he wanted someone to talk to you about it, he could invite a friend that you haven't seen in a while so that even if the talk didn't go well, you'd still get to see someone you care about. And since Zen hasn't been able to visit much now that he's the Head of his sect, he probably made the most sense."

"But—" Rikuo paused and sighed. "I guess that's fair. Sorry, mom — this is just a bunch of fuss over nothing, really. Let's get back to the studying — I'll make sure to actually pay attention this time."

Smiling gently, his mother nodded and leaned over to point out a sentence on his vocabulary page, explaining how the grammar was different between the two languages and letting the previous subject matter rest. Rikuo did his best to focus, eating in small bites between discussing sentence structures and that weird way that English used adjectives, and managed to almost completely put the thought of his political position out of mind. Outside, the sky gently faded from sunset to dusk to night, and in the yard a number of yōkai wandered off into the night to do their usual haunting and sneaking and general mischief.

Halfway though, Tsurara and Kubinashi joined the study session, since both of them had to keep up the pretense of being students and thus had to complete homework of their own (an admirable feat, really, considering their other duties and how out-of-date some of their information could be — Kubinashi's much more so than Tsurara's). Wakana was more than happy to include them, and had quite a lot of fun parsing out the small amount of relatively archaic English that Kubinashi had picked up during his human life as a thief (which, as it turned out, consisted mostly of incredibly vulgar slang terms, much to _nobody's_ surprise). Against his usual instincts, Rikuo felt himself relaxing into the light camaraderie and letting down the guard that he usually tried to keep up around others.

Well, it wasn't a _guard_ , per se. Just… no, perhaps he should call it a guard, because the only other word that came to mind was 'mask' and it wasn't _really_ a mask, was it? He was still _himself_ , just— a more careful version of himself, perhaps, but that was the only difference, right?

Long after the food had been finished, they were starting to move on from studying English to the mathematics assignments (which Rikuo was proud to say he was quite good at, but his companions — who were studying actual algebra instead of the sort of pre-algebra he was working on — seemed a bit more challenged by the material) when the study session was interrupted by one of the Sanba Garasu landing in the open doorway with a quiet thump.

"Master Rikuo."

It was time for the not-a-mask again, then. Rikuo sighed and stood, tugging his haori a bit closer around his shoulders and crossing the room to join the tengu (probably Kurōmaru, considering the dark hair and lack of glasses), where he gestured for the other to stand. "What is it? Is something the matter?"

"Sir," The scout straightened and flapped his wings, mild agitation showing in the movement but not in his composed face, "Although I am ordered to report these things to the current Commander, I thought you would want to know. During my rounds, I happened to pass by the main house of the Zen Sect, and discovered that it was in flames. A cursory investigation found most of the grounds empty, but I was unable to find Lord Zen himself. I suspect that—"

He broke off mid-hypothesis, because Rikuo's fist had flown out almost against his will and smashed a hole into the side of the open door. A heavy aura seemed to loom around the teen, shadows starting to gather at his feet and wind between his ankles as his hair burst away from his head and flowed behind him like a banner of pale moonlight. This was _his_ fault. Something had happened to his friend, and he could have prevented it if he had just asked Zen to stay a little longer. Now Zen was in trouble and possibly dead or dying and hadn't he _just_ said he didn't want to think about that right now?

It was _unacceptable_.

"Kurōmaru." His voice felt strangely gravelly in his throat as he spoke, hands subconsciously reaching inside his yukata to undo the side hooks that held his binder in place — he was going to fight someone tonight, and he needed to be able to _breathe_ for that — and dropping the garment to the side without a second thought. "Guide me to the Zen estate. Whoever caused this to happen—" There, his voice went deep and rough again, and if he weren't in this haze it would almost please him, " _—I am going to destroy them_."

The dark-haired yōkai inclined his head. "As you wish, Young Master."

"Rikuo, what are you—"

He glanced back at his mother and companions, forcing a smile onto his cheeks (and why did they look so surprised? Was his guard usually so much of a mask that this side of him was new to them? How strange) as he slipped his sword back through his obi and the sake bowl back inside the fold of his yukata. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon. Mom, you can help them with algebra while I'm out, right?"

Blinking a few times, Wakana smiled warmly. "Of course. Please come back safely, Rikuo."

"I will."

With that, he turned and leapt into the night, Kurōmaru flying silent and powerful through the trees ahead of him. Zen's home wasn't too far away from the Nura main house — a fair distance, yes, but the closest out of all the groups in the Nura Syndicate other than perhaps the Daruma group — so he wasn't too worried about running out of time getting there. He wasn't exactly worried about Zen either, but was just because 'worried' wouldn't be the right word to use.

He wasn't worried - he was downright _terrified_.

The minutes seemed to tick by, seconds counted by the sound of his feet tapping against tree branches and pushing through any foliage in his way, time stretching longer and longer even though he was sure they should be _there_ by now. Every minute longer they spent on the journey, that was one more minute that Zen didn't have, and he was already short on time. A small voice in the back of Rikuo's mind wondered why he wasn't getting tired, even though he was running at what had to be nearly his top speed, but that voice was irrelevant and he chose to ignore it. What did it matter right now? It didn't. All that mattered was getting there before it was too late.

Finally, the glow of flames entered his field of vision and he burst forward — clearly, he hadn't been at his top speed before, because this was definitely faster — past Kurōmaru and into the clearing around the building complex. It was completely consumed by fire, but the only thing that entered Rikuo's mind was that Zen definitely _wasn't_ outside, so it was into the flames he went.

He didn't call for Zen, because it would be bad to breathe in this smoke and if this was really a coup within the Sect, like Kurōmaru had suspected and explained to Rikuo on the way over, then it was in his favor to stay quiet. Instead, he ran barefoot through the burning hallways, the heat searing his ankles and leaving sooty footprints in his wake. The main building was the least destroyed, so that would be his first target of the night — even if Zen wasn't there, that was where the traitors would likely be, and right now Rikuo _desperately_ needed to kill something.

The night seemed to be on his side this time, because he found both of his targets in the same, slowly-collapsing room. That snake-like advisor and a cluster of similarly smug-looking yōkai were standing on one side of the room next to a door, clearly poised to leave once they were finished gloating and monologuing (the way so many of their sort were wont to do), and on the other side—

Now, let it be said that Rikuo _didn't_ yell his friend's name upon seeing Zen nearly collapsed against the wall, held up only by his grasp on the handle of the sword that he'd driven a good few inches into the floor and barely clinging to consciousness. Instead, an incoherent scream of fury tore itself from his throat as he leapt for the traitorous advisor, sword sliding from its sheath with a metallic whisper and bisecting the snake yōkai from the stomach up. Immediately, he turned on the rest of the traitors, sword biting and hissing through the air even though in his mind it was all to quiet.

This was his fault. _This was all his fault_. He hadn't been able to protect what it was his duty to protect. He hadn't asked Zen to stay and now his friend was coughing on smoke and unable to stand and _it was all his fault_.

The thoughts echoed, bouncing off of the walls of his empty mind as he flicked droplets of blood from his sword, letting them fall onto the flames with a gentle sizzling and an acrid, coppery stench as he turned away from the bodies and crossed the room to where his friend was still stubbornly clinging to consciousness. Zen managed to look up as he approached, and the flat confusion in his gaze surprised Rikuo. Was he hallucinating from smoke inhalation? Was that even how smoke inhalation _worked_?

Before the bird yōkai could say anything, Rikuo spoke. "Sorry. I should have been here sooner." His voice felt raspy, and around them the crackle of the flames was starting to die down as the fire ran out of fuel to consume. "I hope you can forgive me, somehow."

Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn't leave Zen here — once the fires were out, the buildings would be ruined, and he couldn't let his friend sleep in a place like this. Absolutely not. So he'd bring Zen back to the main house, then — they could set up a room near his, organize crews to come help rebuild in the meanwhile, find the rest of the Zen Sect and weed out any more _traitors_ — yes, that's what he'd do. He sheathed his sword and tucked it into his obi, then did the same with Zen's almost unconsciously.

"—e fuck are you _doing_? You just come in and— woah, _woah_!" Zen, who had been in the middle of yelling (well, muttering) something that was doubtlessly quite irritated and full of interesting expletives, broke off with a very confused grunt as Rikuo picked him up smoothly, one arm hooked under his knees and the other wrapping around his chest securely. At this point, the bird yōkai appeared rather flustered, which seemed strange to Rikuo. Zen didn't usually get flustered about things — _angry_ , sure, _confused_ , naturally, but _flustered_? Nah, not really. Maybe it was because he didn't know where they were going?

"I'm taking you back to the main house. You're going to stay there until we've rebuilt yours," Rikuo explained as they left the building, adding another call to the surrounding trees once they were outside. "Hey, Kurōmaru, we're heading back now! I'll give you and the others further orders at the main house." That said, he jumped back into the branches to make his way home, following the path of disturbed foliage that hadn't quite settled back into place from his journey there. The rough bark of the branches on his bare, probably burned feet was a bit uncomfortable, but considering that he spent hours every day with something actively compressing his ribcage and stifling his breathing, it wasn't even worth wincing at. The moon was nearly at height in the sky, indicating that he'd been out longer than he'd thought — it had to have been a least an hour, which meant he really should get back soon so he could get some sleep before school tomorrow.

Zen didn't speak for the whole trip, and Rikuo had almost figured he'd fallen asleep, but as they arrived back in the main house's yard he started to say something, only to break off into a coughing fit. Waiting patiently for his friend to regain his voice ( _thank goodness, he was safe_ ), Rikuo signed instructions to Tsurara and Kubinashi — who had evidently been waiting by the door — to set up a spare room for the sickly yōkai to stay in, along with promises to explain what had happened later. By the time they left, the coughing fit had died down enough for Zen to speak again.

"You— is that _you_ , Rikuo?"

Now wasn't that a strange thing to ask? Of course it was him, but when he looked down to meet Zen's still-confused gaze, all of a sudden he wasn't quite so sure. "I— I'm pretty sure it is? Why, do I have something on my—" The question died on his lips as he followed his friend's pointed gaze to stare down at his significantly flatter chest and back in sudden understanding. "— _oh_. Uh, _right_. Been a few years. I guess you haven't seen me in this form before?"

" _Hell_ no, I haven't!" Even though the rest of him seemed more than ready to drop out of consciousness, at least Zen's temper was still lively. "Where the hell've you been hiding _this_ , huh? You're all fucking tall and shit, and _this_ —" He reached up to grab a handful of Rikuo's hair, tugging it into view despite Rikuo's yelp of pain, "—what the hell is this? You going grey a few centuries early, or something?"

"Oi, oi, _ow_! That's my _actual_ hair, you asshole!" Careful not to drop his friend, Rikuo batted at the hand still gripping his bangs, finally wincing when they were released. "Why the hell did I rescue you, again?"

Scoffing, Zen retorted, "Because you've got burns all over your dumb-ass feet — don't lie, I can _see_ 'em — and I'm the one who knows how to make burn cream here."

"Bullshit, I could buy some in town."

"Yeah, but that stuff's just plain mediocre." The bird yōkai waved a hand dismissively as Rikuo headed into the house, sighing at the coolness of the floors against his burned feet. It looked like his mother had already gone to bed, but most of the rest of the house was still up; Kejōrō passed by and offered to take the swords, which he declined and instead requested a bottle of sake — nice sake, not the plain stuff he used for Meikyō Shisui — and a couple of small cups. Upstairs, Tsurara indicated the room she and Kubinashi had quickly set up for Zen to stay in before heading back downstairs to presumably help her mother with the laundry.

He finally set Zen down on the prepared futon, flopping down beside his friend with a groan and mumbling some semblance of thanks to Kejōrō as she stopped by with the requested sake and cups. He lifted the bottle to his companion in invitation. "Want a drink? I'm going to regret this tomorrow, but it's been a long night."

"Tch, do I _want_ a drink? I've had a longer damn night than you, Rikuo." Zen laughed, a deep sort of belly laugh, and took one of the cups. "Hey, how about Sakazuki? You saved my ass back there — I figure it's about damn time I give you a formal pledge, isn't it?"

Well, that was a surprise. "Sakazuki? With _me_?" Glancing down at his own currently-empty cup, Rikuo made a face. "And if the board never decides to vote me as Third? Would you want to follow a guy like that?"

"Keh, who cares?" The older yōkai waved a hand airily. "Okay, fair, I kind of did. Figured you wouldn't be able to command power without the position, but tonight's proved me wronger than saying _hemlock_ is a vital part of a healthy diet. Point is," He smirked, red eyes glinting in the moonlight and bringing some color back to his pale face, "After tonight, I can't imagine dedicating the rest of my life to following _anyone_ else."

Grimacing at the reminder, Rikuo pushed down the voice inside of him that was yelling about Zen's inevitable death and grinned brightly instead, uncorking the bottle of sake and pouring a 50-50 portion in both their cups. "Well, I guess I'll just spend the rest of your life making sure to look out for you, since you're such a fragile guy."

"And you're a reckless bastard, so it'll be mutual."

He laughed as they linked their elbows together, careful not to let a drop of sake spill from either of their cups, and across from him Zen's eyes were equally bright. "Well, what else are brothers for?"

The bird yōkai chuckled, grinning in a way Rikuo was tempted to call cocky as they drank the pledge of brotherhood together. The sake burned a bit on the way down — was this the first time he'd ever drunk alcohol? Oh, he would _definitely_ regret this in the morning. Speaking of which— "By the way, I may not remember this tomorrow, so you'll have to remind me."

"And you'll believe me?"

"Even if I don't, I'll want it to be true too much to argue."

Leaning back to refill his cup, Zen raised an eyebrow at Rikuo that seemed to spell trouble. "Well, if you _really_ don't remember, we can always just drink it again, since I'll be stuck here until my place is rebuilt." He grinned a little conspiratorially, and Rikuo groaned at the suggestion as he refilled his own cup.

" _Oi_ , don't go getting me drunk in the day, I _need_ my brain cells then."

 

* * *

 

Bonus Content: a sketch of Rikuo during his conversation with Zen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took fucking forever to write, and I'm so sorry because the writing quality is probably terrible. I really wanted to get it written today, though, so here it is. I might go back in a day or two before I do the next chapter and fix it up, but for now this is what you've got. 
> 
> I've said it before, but yes - there are a lot of differences between this and canon. Possibly more than there necessarily would be, but again - this is my AU, I do what I want. I'm trying to keep the characters reasonable close to how they are in canon, although Rikuo is going to be notably different because living as a trans person kind of does that to you.
> 
> Next time, we get Yura! I still have no idea how to write that, lol!


	4. not a great day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hangover, he could deal with. The dysphoria, he could survive. The appearance of an onmyōji, however, threw a bit of a wrench in his plans.

Shit, what had he _done_ last night?

Rikuo groaned and pressed his fingers against his aching temples as he tried to make sense of the situation he'd woken up to. Apparently, Zen was back at the main house and would be staying with them indefinitely - that made some sense, since Rikuo had a vague memory of someone telling him that the Zen Sect's main house was on fire. What _didn't_ make sense was how nauseous he had felt when he awoke. It had started out mild, more of a background pain compared to how bad his headache was, but the moment he'd reached the bathroom and caught a glimpse of his chest - because only an idiot wears a binder to sleep, and Rikuo had to keep his body in the best condition possible — it had increased tenfold and he'd barely had time to shove the door closed before vomiting violently into the toilet bowl.

A gentle hand knocked on the door, and his mother's voice carried through the wood softly. "Rikuo? Are you alright in there?"

Well, apparently he _wasn't_ (because waking up with nausea and a headache generally indicates a definite amount of not-alright-ness), but he spat out some of the bad taste in his mouth and flushed the toilet before calling back in what he hoped sounded like a normal voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, you know, after last night—" At least, he _hoped_ this could be explained by whatever happened last night.

Wakana seemed surprised by the answer. "Oh, so you remember transforming? Zen had said you thought you wouldn't, like the first time. And with the Sakazuki— well, just make sure to drink a lot today." She hummed quietly as Rikuo went through the motions of washing his hands and brushing his teeth, careful not to look at his reflection again, "Your yōkai form may be able to handle alcohol, but as a human—"

"Huh? Sakazuki?" Drying his face, Rikuo pushed open the door so he could retrieve his uniform and found that his mother had brought it to him, folded tidily with one of his usual button-ups and a set of clean underclothes on top. "Oh, thanks—"

Smiling gently, she handed the bundle to him. "Yes. Zen told me that the two of you drank an oath of brotherhood last night, and then some more in addition to that. It sounds like it was a rather stressful night for both of you."

"Oh. Okay." So he transformed again? That would explain why he didn't have a damn clue what had happened after Kurōmaru reported in last night, and the Sakazuki was a good reason for the headache and nausea. He glanced down at the uniform in his hands, his now-empty stomach churning unpleasantly at the thought of how badly it always fit around his chest. It was disgusting. The shape, the curves where there shouldn't be curves, the feeling of the _fabric pulled tight over body parts that didn't belong that he should just rip off now dig his fingers in and tear—_ yeah, he had to stop that train of thought now before he went back to dry-heaving over the toilet, or worse.

A gentle sigh and a hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he realized that he'd spaced out while looking at the clothes in his hands. Looking up, he met Wakana's concerned gaze. "Rikuo, are you sure you're alright? If you want to stay home today—"

"No, no, it's really alright." He had responsibilities there, things to do and people to help. Plus, Kana and Jirō would be unhappy if he wasn't there. But the thought of going somewhere _like that_ — well, fuck it. "Just give me a moment. I'm going to wear a binder today."

Blinking a few times, his mother nodded slowly and walked with him down the hall to his room. "Are you sure? I thought you didn't want your friends to know."

"I don't." Because if the yōkai were bad, humans were likely to be worse — even his friends. The human world relied on conformity and normalcy, two things that yōkai culture had pretty much given up on because of how diverse and downright bizarre they could be. "But if I _don't_ wear it today, I'm not going to be able to focus on anything else." He received a noise of understanding sympathy in reply as he ducked into his room, replacing the bra in a drawer and pulling out another binder — a pull-over one since he'd be wearing it all day, instead of the hook-clasp one that he often wore at home for ease of removal. Speaking of which— "Did I wreck my binder, last night? Since my night form doesn't—"

He gestured to his chest, careful to look anywhere else as he did so, and Wakana shook her head as they walked back. "No, you took it off as soon as you transformed. A few of the hooks came loose, but Kubinashi can fix them up as good as new when he has a moment." As a somewhat unfortunate side effect of being a string master, Kubinashi had — over the years — become the _de facto_ tailor and seamstress (relatively speaking) of the main house. He and Kejōrō were both incredibly deft with needles and thread, and tended to end up repairing a lot of torn clothing whenever anyone — mostly Kurotabō and Aotabō — got into fights.

It was a relief to hear that the binder hadn't been damaged, and Rikuo let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he stepped back inside the bathroom and turned on the shower. His friends would probably be surprised to know that the house actually had a shower, considering its (not inaccurate) reputation as an old yōkai mansion, and in fact it had only been installed when Wakana had come to live there perhaps fourteen years prior.

Rikuo appreciated it now more than ever, because it meant he could have full privacy as he stripped down and stepped under the spray, massaging his scalp and running his fingers through his hair as the water fell over his shoulders. He hadn't realized when he woke up, too aware of the headache and nausea, but he was sore — really sore. His legs ached, the muscles of his back and upper arms ached, and the soles of his feet were beginning to sting already from the heat of the water. It certainly made the idea that he had transformed and done _something_ last night more viable, though it also made washing a bit less pleasant than usual.

Bathing quickly in order to not have to face his naked body any longer than necessary (not today, when his stomach was churning and contracting every time he caught a glimpse of his breasts), Rikuo tugged the tan binder over his head and pulled it into place before dressing and patting down his hair. He'd leave it down today to make up for the marginally flatter chest so that even if he didn't quite look like a girl, his appearance should still have enough of the usual uncanny valley effect that nobody would really look twice. At least, he _hoped_ nobody would.

"Huh? What — you going to school, Rikuo?" Poking his head out into the hallway, Zen stared at Rikuo for a few moments and made a face. "Man, you look like _shit._ Want me to mix something up for you before you go?"

It was a nice offer, but Rikuo had already slept in a bit, and the shower had taken a bite out of his time as it was. "I'll be fine. Just a bit of a hangover, since the human part of me isn't exactly able to properly handle alcohol yet." He declined to tell Zen what was really making him sick, because _'I have nausea-inducing dysphoria that makes me want to literally tear my body apart'_ generally didn't do much to assuage concerns regarding his health. "How are you feeling?"

Half-shrugging, Zen coughed tactfully into his hand and huffed. "Smoke got to me so my lungs are a bit grouchy, but pretty much good as ever." He eyed Rikuo, as though considering whether or not to insist on making medicine, but seemed to decide against it and instead rolled his eyes. "Just take that thing off when you get back, right? Don't want you fucking up your lungs too, dumbass."

"Says the dumbass who drank Sakazuki with me."

Zen laughed and leaned over to muss his friend's hair before retreating back into his room and leaving Rikuo to continue down the hall and down the stairs. It was already later than usual, so he declined Kejōrō's offer of breakfast (he probably wouldn't be able to stomach it anyway) and instead just gestured for Tsurara and Kubinashi to join him as he jogged across the yard to his bike.

Since the exploration of the old school building (which he still resented — just a bit), he'd decided it was safe for Tsurara and Kubinashi to come to school with him instead of separately. After all, Kana and Jirō (and Kiyotsugu, he supposed) knew that they lived nearby and were close to him, so it would make sense for them to travel together at least some of the time. Because he rode his bike to school, they couldn't exactly just walk beside him, so Wakana had offered up her beat-up old bicycle for them to use. After a few repairs and a fresh paint job, it was a reliable vehicle, and even had a grill on the back that Tsurara sat on while Kubinashi pedaled (to his chagrin, considering that it kick-started a number of new rumors about the two of them among the student body and he wasn't exactly comfortable with people thinking he was dating Setsura's daughter).

While they rode, Tsurara cheerfully explained in more detail what had occurred the night before from her perch on the back of Kubinashi's bike. Listening with half an ear as he focused on navigating past traffic and pedestrians, Rikuo stored the information in the back of his mind for when he could actually make use of it. There wasn't really much there that was important — the knowledge that his yōkai form appeared to be biologically male wasn't new, nor was the fact that he and Zen had exchanged Sakazuki. The only really new information was on the attempted coup of the Zen Sect, and he made a mental note to speak with Kurōmaru about investigating any prospective traitors who had escaped the fire. Yōkai like that were the sorts that his clan had no use for.

Kubinashi remained quiet as they locked up the bikes — he'd taken to using his string instead of a human bike lock, citing it as more durable and harder to break — and just patted Rikuo on the shoulder before he and Tsurara left for their classes, signing a quick _'we'll join you for lunch'_ as they went. It was still a bit strange to Rikuo, despite the fact that they'd been doing this for nearly four years, to see the extraordinarily reticent persona that Kubinashi had adopted for his human disguise. Kejōrō had explained that it was the same sort of personality he'd had when he was actually a human, but Rikuo still found it somewhat unsettling compared to the mild but social way he acted at the main house.

He slid into his seat with a quiet groan, the cycling having exacerbated his headache back to a level of actual pain instead of mild discomfort. As his stomach grumbled, he wondered if it had been the right choice to skip breakfast — but he had been running late, and the combination of nausea and a binder pressing against his organs really hadn't been particularly conducive to his appetite. It still wasn't, truth be told, and when combined with his headache— well, it wasn't _quite_ as bad as his worst menstrual cramps, but it came pretty damn close.

As the classroom filled up, he rested his forehead on the cool wood of the desk in front of him and tried to breathe deeply in the hope that the headache would go away if he stayed still. Someone called his name from the hallway — Kiyotsugu, from the sound of it — but was quickly shushed by Kana's distinctive soft voice. What had he done to earn a friend like her, again? She and Jirō had stuck with him for years now, despite how weird he was. That sort of loyalty was the sort of thing he might expect from his clan (those who didn't whisper and scheme behind his back), so to receive it from his human friends — friends he had been _lying_ to for years — was humbling.

Ah, he hadn't had any homework edits for Jirō, had he? Had he even _done_ his homework last night? No, right, he had — he'd been studying with his mother and Kubinashi and Tsurara when Kurōmaru arrived. Thankfully, they'd put his things back in his schoolbag after he apparently left, so he hadn't had to remember to pack them this morning. He wouldn't have remembered, not like this — as it was, Tsurara had needed to shove it at him as he got onto his bike, since he'd almost left the bag itself behind.

"I'm Keikain, from Kyōto." The unfamiliar voice in the quiet classroom pierced his rambling train of thought, and Rikuo looked up to see a small girl with shoulder-length dark hair and almond-shaped brown eyes standing at the front of the room, introducing herself with a bit of an accent. "My full name is Keikain Yura. I'm pleased to meet you, so please take care of me."

 _Kyōto?_ Hadn't that been where his grandfather met his grandmother? Well, it didn't really matter. The unfamiliar girl — she must have been a transfer student — had a strange sort of energy to her, like a minute current running under her skin and sending out the occasional sparks. It didn't feel like any sort of yōkai Fear, however, so Rikuo wasn't really going to put much energy into thinking about it right now.

He managed to almost-sleep through most of the morning classes (perhaps the teachers decided to give him a break, but it was more likely that they just didn't notice), but as soon as the lunch bell rang he felt hands slam against his desk and looked up to find that Kiyotsugu had decided to make Rikuo's desk his base of operations for some bizarre reason. Almost immediately, two new voices joined them — Maki Saori and Torii Natsumi, who'd also been invited on the expedition but had quickly declined — asking about how it had gone, and if they'd seen any yōkai.

Before Kiyotsugu could respond, Kana (who had joined the cluster, along with Jirō) cut in sternly. "No, just some homeless squatters that Rika's friends scared off. And be quiet, she's obviously not feeling well — Jirō, you're on lunch duty today. Go on, you know how quickly the sweet buns get picked."

His not-quite-dead name put a sour taste in the back of his throat, and Rikuo tried to burrow a bit further into his arms as Kiyotsugu loudly (really, did he only have one volume setting?) declared that he'd definitely find some next time. Did there really need to _be_ a next time? Wasn't it enough to bait danger once, without going back and doing it again?

Evidently not.

"—a "Cursed Doll and Diary" from a good friend of mine who's obsessed with collecting strange objects!" The taller boy slammed his hand — _again_ — onto Rikuo's desk for emphasis, "I'll use that! Then I'll prove my theory once and for all!"

Shit. Shit shit _shit._ That sounded like a Tsukumogami of some sort. Of course, it could just be a rumor — many were — but if Kiyotsugu had really acquired a malevolent object like that… Before Rikuo could raise his still-aching head to say that he'd love to see the object (hopefully to either talk to or destroy it), the somewhat wind-like voice of the transfer student piped up with almost those exact words. "I would love to see that too!"

 _Urgh._ Rikuo leaned back to prop his elbows up on his desk and massage his forehead with his fingers as Keikain and Kiyotsugu chatted excitedly about how passionate they were when it came to these sorts of phenomena. Just what he needed — more curious, resourceful friends to keep safe and deceive. He'd have to warn Kubinashi and Tsurara about this transfer student, since she seemed if anything more excited than Kiyotsugu about the prospect of discovering yōkai. He heard the door slide open and the familiar rapid tap of Jirō's feet as his friend returned with an armful of rolls and buns (followed by the quieter footsteps of Tsurara and Kubinashi, making good on their message from earlier), and as one was placed on top of his head (yep, definitely Jirō) Kiyotsugu made a final, enthusiastic declaration.

"We're now the Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol! Meet at my house tonight!"

What. The. _Fuck._

The bun — still packaged, thankfully — slipped off of Rikuo's head as he sat up with a wince, glasses askew on his nose as he stared at his friends and sort-of friends with what he hoped looked like confusion and not aggravated disbelief. Kubinashi patted his back as he attempted to choke out a response without sounding too much like he was actually choking. "Excuse me?"

 

* * *

 

If it weren't for the soothing chill of Tsurara's hand in his and Kubinashi's quietly reassuring presence at his shoulder, Rikuo was pretty sure he would have thrown up more than once this afternoon, and Kiyotsugu probably wouldn't appreciate vomit on his unnecessarily fancy carpet. As it was, he was doing his best to pay attention to the conversation around him without really thinking about how bad he was feeling.

It wasn't the hangover — Tsurara had brought him a bottle of water that she'd kept cool since the morning, which had mostly cleared up the headache, and the sweet bun had helped quell his stomach a bit. The nausea wasn't really proper nausea anymore, no sour taste in the back of his throat or unpleasant churning — just anxiety. Because the transfer student — Keikain, he really did need to remember her name properly — kept _staring_ at him, and it really wasn't helping the severe dysphoria that had been plaguing him all day.

The binder had helped, but every time he took a breath and felt it press against his chest he felt a violent urge to dig his fingers into the soft flesh there like claws and just _tear_. His clothes felt too tight and too loose and every awkward wrinkle was making his skin _crawl_ , and he couldn't bear to look down at his legs and see just how badly they fit in his borrowed uniform trousers. As it was, the presence of his friends was the only thing keeping him from trying to claw off the skin that felt so wrong on his body. And she just _kept staring at him._

Had she noticed something? Did she think he was a girl, or a boy, or something else? What pronouns was she using for him — had he introduced himself to her? Had one of his friends? Was she just weirded out by the school's resident cross-dresser or was she trying to figure out if he had breasts or a penis under the clothes? _What was she thinking what was she thinking what was she—_

"Rikuo." Something rested on his shoulder, and when he turned to look he met Kubinashi's concerned, honey-colored gaze (that had never quite stopped being disconcerting, the way he and Tsurara had somehow switched eye colors for their disguises). The older yōkai pursed his lips, thumb making small circles on the fabric of Rikuo's uniform as he murmured under his breath so as not to be overheard. "Do you want to go back to the main house? Tsurara and I can monitor the situation."

Forcing himself to take a deep breath and loosen the tension in his shoulders, Rikuo shook his head and tugged a not-quite-sincere smile onto his lips. "I'm fine, really. Just a bad day, and I've got a weird feeling about Miss Keikain."

"Hm?" The neckless yōkai glanced at her with narrowed eyes (thankfully, she was engaged in the tour monologue along with the rest of their human companions), exhaling thoughtfully and passing on the warning to Tsurara, who responded with a series of signs of her own. If anything, this made his expression grow tighter. "Tsurara says we might be dealing with a Tsukumogami here, so be on your guard. I don't suppose you brought sake and a bowl with you?"

Rikuo made a displeased face. "In this uniform? Not a chance. Miss Yokotani would confiscate them before you could say _'wait, they're for self-defense, please don't call my parents'_ — they're not exactly what I'd call inconspicuous."

"I suppose so." Sighing, Kubinashi flicked a quick response back as they headed through yet another oversized doorway to the next room, where Kiyotsugu was showing off an eerie, long-haired doll on a stand. "Well, Tsurara and I will be keeping our eyes out. I know you're not feeling great, but try to be careful — here, and around the Keikain girl." Quietly, he wound another thin thread around Rikuo's wrist, gently wrapping his companion's fingers around the ends before leaning back with a serious expression. "Her name sounds familiar, which generally isn't a particularly good sign when it comes to our kind."

A yelp from the group clustered around the doll broke them out of the quiet discussion, and Rikuo dashed across the room with Kubinashi at his heels to see Tsurara frantically trying to explain why she'd all but run into the object, nearly knocking it over. "No, no, I just thought— I-It was just a sad story, and I wanted to make sure the doll wasn't damaged!"

"So you decided to body-slam it?" Jirō's tone was distinctly amused. "I'm pretty sure that would damage it more, Miss Oikawa."

She flushed and pulled up her scarf quickly to conceal the fact that there was a light haze of steam billowing from her cheeks at the abrupt temperature shift. "I-I didn't mean to—" While adjusting the scarf, she signed another message at Kubinashi and Rikuo, eyes wide. _'Definitely the real deal. Blood from the eyes when he read about it from the diary. What should I do?'_

 _'Nothing yet, no way to do it without them seeing.'_ Signing back just as quickly while Kiyotsugu scolded her and threatened (not particularly seriously) to revoke her membership, Rikuo leaned over and muttered to Kubinashi, "Do you think you could restrain it without them noticing?"

"No chance. String is less conspicuous than ice, but not _much_ less."

"Damn." Joining Tsurara as they spoke, Rikuo watched anxiously as the next diary entry caused the doll's hair to grow wild and tangled, its expression slowly beginning to twist into a contorted grimace. "Hey, Kiyotsugu, maybe you should stop reading the—"

Evidently, the tall boy either didn't hear him or simply ignored him, because he continued with, " '28th February: The day we moved house. It's so strange," Rikuo's heart jumped to his throat as the doll slowly unsheathed a miniature katana, raising it up behind Kiyotsugu's head with a silent scream as the reading continued, "A box I had closed is open, and—"

Many simultaneous things happened at once, then. The doll lunged forward, porcelain face contorted into a hateful scream as it plunged the edge of its sword towards Kiyotsugu's unprotected back. Rikuo jerked towards the doll — to do _what_ , he didn't know, since he was completely unarmed save for the string Kubinashi had given him — and was held back by his in-disguise advisors who had fully realized that he was unarmed and would probably just get in _more_ trouble by acting. And finally, a slip of paper cut into the shape of a human silhouette flew against the doll's forehead, exploding with a distinctly supernatural energy before any of the Nura clan members present could read the ink characters scrawled somewhat messily on one side.

"So you were in Ukiyoe after all." Keikain's voice was lower than they'd heard it before, a smooth alto full of commanding power, and when Rikuo turned to stare at her in shock she was standing tall, two more paper slips held between her fingers. "In the name of the Keikain onmyōji clan, Mononoke, I will erase you from this world!"

_Shit._

_Very, very shit._

Well, at least now Rikuo wasn't worrying about his dysphoria. Unfortunately, it was because Kubinashi had a death-grip on his fingertips, and beside them Tsurara seemed to be moments away from conjuring up her own personal snowstorm. That really wouldn't make this situation any better, so he placed a hand on her shoulder and hoped the rest of his friends would just assume that she was startled and being comforted, which— well, it was _sort of_ true, but they would misunderstand the reason 'why'. At least, he hoped they would.

Shit, could this day get any worse? An onmyōji in Ukiyoe Town… it couldn't be a coincidence. Not with the core of the Nura clan based here, not with Nurarihyon himself living here and _oh gods_ , he would have to warn the _whole clan_ about this, wouldn't he? They'd been getting better at blending in and hiding in plain sight from regular humans, but an onmyōji could and would sense them by their Fear alone. How in the world would they be able to hide _that_?

As Kiyotsugu exclaimed over the fact that Keikain was a real-life onmyōji and that the doll had been a real-life yōkai (really, he was _far_ too excited about that part), Rikuo tried to think of how he could possibly teach his clan to properly conceal their Fear from this new threat. Keikain _seemed_ nice enough, but an onmyōji posed a danger to the yōkai he'd sworn to protect — well, not properly sworn since he wasn't their official leader in any way, but in his heart he considered them _his_ all the same — no matter how generally nice she might seem.

Kubinashi's hand squeezed his, and Rikuo realized his own breathing had shallowed without him noticing. Under his other shoulder, Tsurara was trembling in clear terror, and she signed rapidly under her scarf _'Can we leave now? Please?'_

It sounded like a fine idea to him, half-listening as Keikain explained, "I'm a member of the Keikain clan, a family of Kyōto onmyōji who specialize in yōkai exorcism."

"Come to think of it, I've heard the name 'Keikain' on T.V. before—" While Kiyotsugu responded in surprised delight, Kubinashi signed a brief response with his free hand. _'No, it would be suspicious. We need to know why she's here.'_

Keikain's voice took on a faintly embarrassed tone at the dark-haired boy's exclamation, though her expression remained impressively stoic. "Ah, that was my grandfather, Keikain Hidemoto."

"Woah, no way!" Disbelief crossed Kiyotsugu's face. "What's someone famous like you doing here, then?"

This they needed to know, so Rikuo leaned forward in a hopefully convincing pretense of curiosity and tried to ignore the ache in his back that indicated he'd been wearing his binder too long. Beside him, Kubinashi did the same, while Tsurara seemed to be trying to hide behind the two of them. Keikain (luckily) obliged, explaining calmly, "This town, Ukiyoe, is pretty well-known for high levels of supernatural activity. Rumor has it that master of all yōkai lives here." _Double shit._ Well, that was what tended to happen when one stayed in the same area for four centuries, Rikuo supposed. "I'm here as a test mission, so I want to exorcise a lot of yōkai! That way, I'll be able to prove my worth as an onmyōji, and follow my grandfather's footsteps as Head of the Keikain clan."

"Wha—!" Rikuo bit down hard on his lip, swallowing the protest he had wanted to say and tightening his grip on his yōkai friends as Kiyotsugu exclaimed loudly how fantastic it was to have a _'pro'_ in the Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol and how he was _also_ looking for the master of all yōkai. Just what Rikuo needed — more people looking for his Night form. Under his breath, he muttered to Kubinashi and Tsurara, "You guys should head home now. No point staying in danger like this. I'll report anything more when I return."

He didn't really want them to leave — there was a knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach and the thought of not having his allies beside him was far from comforting — but practicality was more important than whatever he was feeling, so he bit his tongue and waved them off. Neither of them seemed particularly hesitant to escape the situation, though Kubinashi signed rather forcefully at him to _be careful_ as they left, the rest of the group distracted from their departure by the doll reanimating and lunging at Kana. She yelped and grabbed onto Rikuo's arm as Keikain muttered another word and blew it up once again.

"I thought you'd already sealed it…"

Tuning out the ongoing conversation between Kiyotsugu and Keikain, Rikuo tried to comfort Kana as she hid behind his shoulder with her fingers clenched in the fabric of his uniform, awkwardly patting her hand as he absently noted Keikain's statement about living alone. Somehow, it sounded like something his family would have done too, which just reinforced the need to be wary — any family that was *like* the Nura clan was one he needed to be cautious about. It made him feel a little bad, since it sounded pretty tough — especially if she was carrying around discount coupons and old receipts — but at the same time she posed a pretty significant threat to his clan, so his feelings on the matter were uncomfortably mixed.

As they were leaving, Kiyotsugu turned to look sideways at him over Kana's head with a calculating grin and asked, "Hey, Miss Nura, your house is big and old, isn't it? Let's meet there next time, what do you say?"

"Huh?" Still caught up in the mix of uncertain feelings towards the onmyōji — who had gone _back_ to staring at him, _why was she still doing that_ — Rikuo just shrugged without properly processing the question. Whatever it was, it wasn't as important as getting home and getting out of these clothes and putting his hair back up the way it should be and _getting away from the staring_. "Yeah, sure."

"Great! Let's do next Sunday at Miss Nura's house!"

"Fine."

"Sure!"

"O-Okay…"

Two blocks away, Kana still clinging onto his sleeve and glancing around nervously, the content of the exchange finally caught up to Rikuo and he barely managed to stop himself from swearing out loud (which would have probably given his poor friend a heart attack, and ruined his 'nice girl' reputation completely). He'd just invited the Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol, which now contained _a literal onmyōji_ , over to the Nura clan's main house. The heart of one of the most historically powerful yōkai clans in all of Edo— er, the Tōkyō area, that was. He'd just invited _a Kyōto onmyōji_ to _a yōkai mansion_.

_Gramps was going to kill him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams*
> 
> I'm sorry for the wait! I hope this one is up to snuff - I'm still having a bit of trouble keeping everyone in character consistently, because they're close to canon but everyone's going to be a little different so it's hard to keep them in line. It's also really hard to follow canon events closely without just literally describing the manga. (I'm sure you've noticed that I've been glossing over some of the details... I'm sorry!! It's partially because I'm lazy and not a great writer, but also partially because this is very much a close third person P.O.V. on Rikuo and thus is much more focused on what he observes and what's in his head than necessarily the ambient settings).
> 
> Introducing Yura! Who definitely suspects _something_ , but what?
> 
> As always, un-beta'd.


	5. explanation | preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To recap: He'd just invited a bunch of humans, including _a literal onmyōji_ , over to the main house. Where everyone was of the opinion that he was now some sort of ascended being who could take on his yōkai form at will.
> 
> Was it time to panic? It was definitely time to panic.

"Karasu Tengu, care to explain what exactly all of this is?"

Because Rikuo was very sure, even through the haze of exhaustion and dysphoria and _'this binder is killing my back and making it harder to breathe and really needs to come off soon'_ that was clouding his mind, that he had no idea why half of the Nura clan was sitting (and/or dancing) around the main room and hallways, apparently inebriated half-way to next year and partying like tomorrow had been shattered into a million pieces. He'd arrived home to this scene of utter mayhem and, unable to find any of his close friends and aides in the chaos, turned to his grandfather's primary advisor for answers.

They were (not to his surprise) not what he had wanted to hear. "Ah, Young Master! This is a celebration, for you once again took on your true form last night! Come, come, have some sake — the sun is almost set, show us your—"

Rikuo cut him off. "No. No way. I'm not going to get drunk again like an idiot — one hangover a week is enough!" He tried to have patience for his often somewhat short-sighted clan, but right now he had no more patience for this bullshit. "And if you're only going to celebrate when I look like a yōkai, then you may as well not celebrate at all! This is just as much my true form as _that_ is, and maybe you could at least _try_ to remember it!" Pushing past the small tengu, he shoved his way through the throng of inebriated and thoroughly ecstatic yōkai to the stairs near the back of the house, dragging his feet up step after step until he reached the second floor and could bolt to the nearest room and shut himself in.

Was it time to panic? It was definitely time to panic. He couldn't do what they were asking him to do — not at will, not on anybody's whim or wish or command, not even on his own. Rikuo didn't remember a _damned thing_ about what he did last night, just that he had been _furious_ and then he woke up with a brutal hangover and sickening dysphoria and he'd gone to school with a binder on for the first time and that onmyōji girl had kept _staring_ at him and oh yeah _he'd invited her over to his house_.

What was he thinking?

Nevermind, easy answer — _he hadn't been_. Rikuo rested his back against the doorframe and slid down it to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands after clumsily removing his glasses. He hadn't been thinking, and now he'd been lucky if his grandfather disowned him instead of letting the board find out and kill him directly. Even just inviting his human friends over was bad enough — his clan wasn't terrible at hiding, but most of them had a long ways to go still — but inviting an _onmyōji_ who was specifically trying to _catch and kill_ his bloodline?

Scratch his first thought - he'd be lucky if they killed him _quickly_ , because he was definitely going to die.

The strap of his schoolbag slipped off of his shoulder, only barely catching his attention through the fuzz of panic clouding his mind. It was just a little weight off of his back, after all, not even comparable to the metaphorical load of responsibility he was carrying (or the pain of his binder that he really needed to take off but didn't have the energy for right now). What did catch his attention, however, was the bare foot that stepped into his field of vision shortly before a familiar voice spoke up in front of him, strident and determined.

"Oi, Rikuo, what's going on?" When he looked up, Zen's puzzled face came into view, the older yōkai crouching down so their eyes were at the same level and crossing his arms. "You look even worse than this morning. Are those humans at your school giving you trouble or something?"

It was getting a little difficult to breathe — a sure sign that he needed to take of his binder, or that he was about a minute away from a proper panic attack — but Rikuo managed a quick shake of his head to indicate that it wasn't his classmates that were the problem.

"No. I just—"

Could he tell Zen? Would his friend be angry at the danger he had inadvertently put him in — put them all in? Zen hadn't really wanted to support him as the Third at first, so it wasn't unreasonable to think he might rescind his support if he knew what a stupid thing Rikuo had done today. And it would hurt to not have Zen on his side. It hurt just thinking about it.

_He was scared._

Why was he scared? He shouldn't be scared about this, it had been his foolish action and whatever happened would be what he deserved for not thinking before he spoke, he shouldn't be afraid of the consequences. He shouldn't, he shouldn't, and yet his voice was caught in his throat and it felt like he couldn't breathe around it. The binder under his school uniform was tight around his ribcage, straps digging into his shoulders and hem into his sides, and he knew there would probably be marks when he took it off. Everything on his body felt wrong and constricting, the seams too stiff and the buttons tugging and the sleeves twisted awkwardly around his elbows, and even the body underneath was wrong too — too soft in some places, too large in others, ill-fitting and misshapen and _disgusting disgusting disgusting_. His body didn't fit and his clothes didn't fit and he was scared because he'd invited an onmyōji over to the main house and now everyone would see that not only was he not everything they wanted him to be, he was _worse worse worse_.

Something touched his shoulder and he flinched away, because it reminded him again that his skin felt _wrong_ and _suffocating_ and even just his clothes were trapping him inside of it. Then something touched his hands, and he realized that somehow he'd ended up with his head on his knees and his hands clenched in his hair, fistfuls of it bunched up at the roots. The thing touching him — _no_ , not a thing, the _person_ touching him — gently pried his fingers loose and tidied his hair as sound started filtering back into his ears. _When had it stopped?_

"—here. I'm gonna go find Setsura and your mum," Zen was saying as he stood, carefully draping his leaf-green haori over Rikuo's hunched shoulders and pushing open the door that had been shoved shut haphazardly. "So don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay? And when I get back, you're gonna calm down and eat something and talk about what's got you all up in knots like this."

Apparently satisfied with that statement, the bird yōkai exited the room on quiet feet and left Rikuo curled against the wall and breathing in the stringent scent of medicinal herbs that seemed to be permanently embedded in all of Zen's belongings. The green haori in particular smelt rather strongly of aloe, a leafy plant that Rikuo vaguely recalled being told could sooth burns. Had Zen been making something for the injuries they'd received last night? After all, Rikuo didn't have any memory of the burns they'd (presumably) suffered being treated, though to be fair he didn't remember _anything_ about last night.

And Karasu Tengu wanted to _celebrate_ it?

Why would anyone want to celebrate the fact that he couldn't control his transformation, couldn't remember a damn _thing_ he did while in his yōkai form, and apparently suffered extraordinarily unpleasant aftereffects (though that could have been the alcohol, since apparently he and Zen drank Sakazuki together and then some)? It felt like everyone was expecting that this breakthrough would mean a big change, that having transformed once he'd be able to do it at will now. But he _couldn't_ — not even if he wanted to. It was as though he had been asleep, for once completely without dreams, and then woken up feeling like actual garbage and being told he'd somehow become a hero while unconscious.

Pulling his breathing together as steadily as he could with a stiff piece of fabric wrapped around his ribcage, Rikuo rested his chin on his knees and looked around what was apparently Zen's room (the one he would be staying in temporarily until his house was closer to fixed). He hadn't had time to really check up on his friend's new living quarters today (if he had last night, of course, he didn't know or remember), so it was with a degree of curiosity (and a healthy dose of post-panic tranquility) that he took in his surroundings. Bare wooden floor (of course, since the Nura house was very old-fashioned), tall windows, a pile of cushions stacked in one corner, and a futon rolled out on the floor with two comforters tossed over it. Zen had clearly taken a little time today to set it up per his own habits, since the futon was just to the side of the windows, and next to a low shelf of what looked like medicinal ingredients (at least, Rikuo _assumed_ that's what the small pots and jars contained) on the other side. Of course Zen would want his medicines easily accessible like that.

Someone — probably Wakana — had placed a few books on the shelves as well. From what he could see, there were a few novels and a few science textbooks, and a— did she seriously give Zen a copy of the DSM-IV-TR? The sight of the thick guide to mental health, pages liberally dotted with bent and creased sticky notes, coaxed a surprised snort of laughter from Rikuo as he hesitantly pulled Zen's haori tighter around his shoulders and leaned back against the wall in an effort to breathe a bit more comfortably. He hadn't known his mother even _had_ the DSM, let alone the latest edition (although wasn't there supposed to be a new one in a few years?) — was it her copy from school, or had she borrowed it from a library or a friend?

Did Wakana still even _have_ close human friends? Come to think of it, Rikuo didn't know how often his mother even left the main house these days. It seemed kind of sad, the thought that she seemed to have completely given up her previous life and relationships when she joined the Nura clan. Was that what he'd be expected to do, if he ever reached the position of the Third head? Leave behind everything about his human life and only think about the yōkai world from then on?

Kana and Jirō's faces flashed in his mind at the thought, swiftly followed by the rest of the just-formed Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol (which was a little odd, as he admittedly didn't know half of the group beyond a passing acquaintance), and he sighed and pressed his face against his knees once again. He didn't want that — didn't want to give up that part of who he was.

And then he remembered that he'd invited the entire group — including _Keikain_ , a _for-real Kyōto onmyōji_ — to the main house, and the wave of panic crashed over him all over again. _Shit_ , he really had messed up, hadn't he? All that time doing his best to make sure his clan would be _safe_ , and then he goes and invites their natural worst enemy _right to their doorstep_. His fingers clenched in the fabric of his trousers, tightening involuntarily as he tried to keep his breathing under control. One hand slipped and the blunt edges of his nails bit into the palm of his hand, perfectly angled to dig into the soft area where his sword training hadn't left callouses. It hurt, but it helped him focus instead of being dragged back under the panic once more.

Something tapped the back of his head none-too-gently, and he started in surprise, looking up to find the source of the touch and instead feeling his cheeks heat up as he realized he wasn't alone anymore. Zen was back, leaning over him with a hand raised — clearly ready to try again if Rikuo hadn't responded the first time — and an impatient expression. Behind him, having clearly just entered the room (now that Rikuo thought about it, he _had_ heard a door slide open, but he really should have noticed them coming in — so much for being diligently aware of his surroundings), were his mother, Tsurara, Setsura, and Kubinashi. All of them appeared much more concerned than Zen (though, in Setsura's case, it wasn't by much — she wasn't a worrier by nature), and Wakana immediately knelt down next to him and tugged him into a gentle hug, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and running her fingers gently through his hair.

Rikuo blinked, then blinked again, pulse a quiet drumbeat in his ears as he tried not to twitch uncomfortably under all of the eyes staring down at him. "Um… Not that I don't appreciate the company, but why did you all come up here? Aren't you enjoying the— well—" He waved an arm, a little helplessly, in the direction of the stairs in order to indicate the merriment that could still be heard echoing up from the main floor.

"Huh?" One eyebrow twitching upwards, Zen exhaled forcefully through his nose and crossed his arms. "I told you I was going to get your mom and Setsura, Rikuo. The other two just sort of latched on." He locked onto Rikuo with a considering gaze. "You breathing any better?"

Breathing? Ah, that's right, he'd almost forgotten. "Oh, my binder!"

"You're still wearing it?" Tsurara frowned, crossing her arms as well and immediately turning to the door. "I'll go get you a yukata, Master Rikuo, so make sure to take it off right now! You _know_ you're not supposed to wear it for so long!" And with that, she swept out of the room, only reappearing briefly to order everyone else, "And don't look at him while he's changing! That means you, Kubinashi, Lord Zen!"

As she hurried off — presumably to his room, and why had he ended up _here_ instead of _there_ anyway — Rikuo couldn't help but chuckle as he slowly uncurled from the wall, his mother helping him to his feet and taking his schoolbag out of the room with her (bringing it back to his, where he'd doubtlessly find it carefully hung on the back of his desk chair later). "Don't mind her — I really don't care if you look." It was a little strange, undressing in front of other men (if only for the fact that despite being one, his body didn't really look it right now), but somehow Rikuo didn't find it uncomfortable and was more amused than anything when Kubinashi quickly flushed red and covered his head completely with the sleeves of his haori anyways.

Zen just laughed (and then coughed), distinctly amused by the whole situation. "Does she think I haven't seen them before or something? I'm a _doctor_ , I don't care about naked bodies or whatever." As Rikuo tugged off his uniform jacket and then his shirt, handing them to Setsura when she reached out with expectant hands, the bird yōkai glanced over with his brows quirked in curiosity. "I do want to take a look at your back once you're got that off, though. Yuki Onna — er, _Tsurara_ , not you—" He added as Setsura glanced up at him, "— said that it compresses your lungs?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, a bit." Shrugging uncomfortably as he tugged at the stiff cloth to pull it over his shoulders, Rikuo stifled another huff of laughter when Kubinashi started to peek out in curiosity and then rapidly shoved his hands back over his eyes with an even brighter flush covering his cheeks and ears. Setsura reached for the binder as soon as he'd taken it off, fixing him with a narrowed gaze that seemed to scream 'don't do anything stupid' before sweeping out of the room to take the uniform and binder to the laundry. "I feel it more in my back than anything, though. It's kind of unavoidable."

He stretched, careful not to look down at his chest as he groaned with relief at how good it felt to be able to move his shoulders properly (and taking more than a little delight in the chorus of joints popping with the motion). Wearing a binder helped his dysphoria, but it wasn't great for the rest of his physical health. A finger poked his back and he jumped, turning around to glare at his amused friend. "Zen! Sheesh, warn me first!"

"What, you want me to say ' _oh, Master Rikuo, I'm going to touch you know_ '?" The bird yōkai snickered, hands analytically prodding at the muscles and bones of Rikuo's back as the latter crossed his arms petulantly. "Sounds kind of kinky, don't you think? Pretty sure that's not what I'm here for, although if you're _asking_ —"

Against his will, Rikuo snorted and laughed out loud, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his mouth with one hand as Zen grumbled about his back shaking too much to actually get a good look. " _No_ , Zen. No, that's _not_ —" His cheeks flushed and he continued to chortle, trying to keep his body as still as possible so his friend could examine properly. "— _why in the world would you_ — woah, ow!"

"Ah." Prodding at one spot again, Zen made a face. "Doesn't look like anything's wrong, though you'll want to watch your ribs if you go fighting in that thing. You'll need to stretch more if you're gonna keep wearing it — you've got more knots than a _tree_ , dumbass."

Rikuo half-shrugged, covering his chest as he glanced over his shoulder at his friend. "It's stiff, so I can't really stretch while wearing it."

"Then do it afterwards!" A finger dug into the knot that Zen had found. "Come on, you don't need _me_ to tell you that much. Now take a few breaths in and out, okay?"

"Huh? How come?"

Rolling his eyes, the older yōkai gestured at Rikuo's chest vaguely. "You said it compresses your lungs. May as well check that they're not fucked up or anything." Reluctantly complying, Rikuo drew in a deep breath and held it for a few moments before slowly exhaling, trying not to flinch (or worse, giggle) at the sensation of Zen's fingers carefully pressing against the sides and back of his ribcage. As he repeated the motion, an indignant yelp from the doorway informed them both that Tsurara had returned.

"Lord Zen! What are you doing to Master Rikuo?!"

Raising his hands and stepping back, Zen rolled his eyes once again and folded his arms as the Yuki Onna hurried to help Rikuo into the black yukata she had brought despite his yelps of protest and 'seriously, I can dress myself, you know'. "Making sure he wasn't damaged. _Sheesh_ , have a little faith in me, Yuki Onna."

"My name's _Tsurara_ , and you don't get to talk!" Deftly tying Rikuo's obi in a simple knot and draping a gold haori over his reluctant shoulders, she shot the bird yōkai a narrow-eyed look. "At least Kubinashi didn't look — _he's_ not a pervert, unlike you!"

" _Unlike_ — why you—!"

Chuckling quietly as his two friends squared off against each other (and pretty sure he could see comical sparks flying between them), Rikuo tugged the fold of his yukata a bit closer over his ( _softer_ wrong _shape_ wrong _feeling_ and push that thought _aside_ ) chest and pulled off his uniform trousers now that his legs were sufficiently covered. "I'm going to bring these down to Setsura so she can put them with the rest of the uniform, so please don't actually start fighting while I'm gone."

He crossed the room and then paused in the doorway, because he was after all descended from a yōkai who liked to cause mischief, and it wasn't often he felt up to jokes these days. "Oh, and for the record, Kubinashi totally looked too."

From inside the room, Tsurara's loud ' _WHAT_ ' mixed with Zen's raucous laughter and Kubinashi's flustered protests echoed down the hallway after him, and he allowed himself a wide smile.

* * *

"So now that everyone's all nice and _cozy_ ," Punctuating the comment with a sarcastic eye roll, Zen crossed his arms and leaned forward to shoot Rikuo a narrow look, "Mind telling me just what happened earlier, huh, Rikuo?"

They'd all reconvened in Zen's room (with the addition of Kejōrō, who'd been all too happy to escape the celebrations and join them), and were now sitting on cushions in a small circle (except for Kubinashi, who was sprawled on the floor with his head floating ruefully by Kejōrō's shoulder, and Tsurara, who was sitting on his back with a distinctively satisfied expression). Rikuo, sandwiched between Tsurara and his mother with a bowl of rice in his hands (Wakana, having realized he hadn't eaten, had stopped by the kitchen to put together a small meal and brought it back upstairs with her), made a face.

It wasn't that he didn't want to explain things to them — he needed to, after all, so they could make proper preparations — but… how would they react? Would they be mad at him? He'd put them all in danger, after all, and that was _unacceptable_. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened in the fabric of his yukata, bunching it up on his thighs.

A light weight rested on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see his mother giving him a gentle, encouraging smile. Right, he could do this. He _had_ to.

"I—" Even with his resolve, Rikuo's throat was a bit dry, and he had to clear it before he continued. "— I panicked. It was a rough day and then coming home to— to everyone celebrating and drinking to something I don't even _remember_ — and they expect me to just be able to do it any time now?" He shook his head, taking a deep breath to keep himself focused. "And it's not really fair of them, to celebrate it like that — I'm still the _same_ person like this, the only difference is the— the _body_ , and some of the power, but it's _not_ —" His throat tightened, and he coughed to clear it again. Wakana's hand on his shoulder was warm, and he steeled himself. "It's unreasonable of them to _only_ celebrate what I'm doing for the clan when it's as a yōkai. I've been doing my best for _three years_ now, and yet they only say something about it when my yōkai blood takes over for a _few hours_?"

"And you were sick today." His mother sighed softly, shifting her position so she could sit behind him and press her thumbs lightly into the sore muscles and knots in his back, making small circles as she spoke. "I should have asked you to stay home after all."

"Oi, _oi_ , hold up." Uncrossing his arms to point one finger accusingly at Rikuo (who was currently only half attentive because the fingers pressing into his back felt _really nice_ ), Zen scowled. "You said you were just hungover! Did you lie to me, Rikuo?"

Rikuo blinked a few times and shook his head quickly, hands raised in an attempt to placate his friend's infamous temper before it actually reared its head. "No, no I— er, that is— I was sick, but I wasn't _ill_ or anything! Just nauseous! It— I'm not sure why, but when I woke up my dysphoria with—" He waved one hand vaguely at the area of his chest, which had Kubinashi's head flushing pink once again and everyone else nodding in understanding, "— it was just way worse."

"How much worse?"

He raised one eyebrow at Setsura, who seemed to be genuinely curious behind her characteristic nonchalance. "Worse to the point of _throwing up_ when I caught a glimpse of my chest in the bathroom mirror. But that's— _look_ , that's beside the _point_! And it's a _good_ thing I was at school today, because there's something I need to warn everyone about!"

"Oh." Tsurara shivered, sliding off of Kubinashi's back to lean on her mother's shoulder with a gloomy look. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

Well, she _definitely_ wasn't going to like what he had to say, then. Rikuo grimaced. "Yeah, and it gets worse."

"What gets worse?" Pushing Kubinashi's head back towards his body as he sat up and rolled his shoulders with a wince, Kejōrō leaned in curiously. "What happened while you were at school, Master Rikuo?" A curl of hair fell across her face as she asked, and she absent-mindedly pushed it behind her ear while keeping her eyes fixed on Rikuo.

He bit his bottom lip, wincing slightly as his mother pressed her thumb into a particularly tight knot. "There, uh—"

"There's an onmyōji transfer student." Kubinashi spoke up, tone and expression once again serious as his head resumed its usual position above his shoulders. "From Kyōto - her name is Keikain."

" _What._ "

Everyone in the circle looked up in surprise at Setsura's flat response, and that surprise only grew upon seeing her narrowed eyes and tight lips. She didn't react any further for a full two minutes, seeming completely lost in thought, and Rikuo remembered with a start that she'd been part of his grandfather's original Night Parade, and if Nurarihyon had been in Kyōto, she must have been too. Maybe they knew of Keikain's family? And then, a worse thought — had they _fought_? Was the Keikain more than just the usual threat — did they have a _personal_ vendetta against the Nura clan? "Um, Setsura? Do you know Keikain's family?"

The older Yuki Onna inhaled quietly, forcefully relaxing. "We did make their _acquaintance_ once, yes. They are… not to be underestimated. At least, they weren't during the late Sengoku. Nowadays… _humph_. Well, I doubt they're as strong now as they were then, since he's most definitely dead now." She looked carefully between her daughter, Rikuo, and Kubinashi. "Take care not to get too close to her. We don't know how powerful she might be."

Well, shit. May as well get it out, and face his punishment. At least it didn't sound like they had _actively_ bad blood with the Keikain clan, which might help a bit. "That, um, might be a bit hard. Since she— well, they're _all_ —" Taking a breath, he forced the words past his lips in a rapid stream, nearly unintelligible for their speed. " _SheandsomeofmyotherclassmatesaregoingtocomeovernextsundayI'msosorry!_ "

Now it was Zen's turn to deliver a flat, " _What._ " Kubinashi, meanwhile, sighed heavily in understanding and rested his forehead in the palm of one hand.

"Kiyotsugu brought it up and didn't give you a chance to refuse, didn't he."

" _That's—_ " Well, to be fair, if Rikuo hadn't agreed on his own, Kiyotsugu probably _would_ have pushed the point regardless. So Kubinashi's assumption wasn't exactly wrong, at least in the end. "—yeah, pretty much. But that doesn't change the fact that it's _dangerous_! Forget just being sneaky like you are with humans, Keikain's an _onmyōji_ — she'll be able to sense you anyways! And I think she's already suspicious of me, so it would just make things worse if I backed out now."

Behind him, Wakana hummed thoughtfully. "Why do you think she's suspicious of you, Rikuo?"

He shrugged. "She just kept— _looking_ at me, all day. I'd just look up and find her _staring_ at me."

"You sure it wasn't because everyone at school just thinks you're a cross-dresser?" Piping up from beside her mother, Tsurara cracked a nervous smile and flapped a hand at Rikuo when he turned to her with an exasperated expression. "Oh, don't make that _look_ , you know they do. Since you're still pretending to be a girl there, and all. She's probably from a fancier place than Ukiyoe Middle, so maybe she just hasn't seen anyone doing that before?"

Okay, _pause_ , reel in the instinctive reaction and _think_ about it. Though he was never far from awareness of his body and the wrongness of how it felt, Rikuo had mostly forgotten that most "girls" didn't, in fact, wear a boy's uniform to school. Since he'd been wearing boy's clothes (and now the uniform) for years, nobody at his school really commented on it — though he suspected that was partly due to someone from the clan, likely his mother, talking to the staff. So it wasn't entirely implausible that Keikain's apparent fixation with him was simply surprise or puzzlement at his clothing habits, rather than active suspicion. _Still…_ "Even so, as long as she continues actually paying attention to me, I can't risk acting suspicious. It's just not safe."

"Well, shit." Zen succinctly summarized the situation, propping one elbow up on his knee and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. It had grown completely dark, and a soft wind whistled past outside as Rikuo flinched slightly and hung his head. This was it, he'd fucked up and they _knew_ , now they were going to— "Alright, so let's figure out what we're going to do. Areas that'll be off-limits, who'll need to just go somewhere else and who's good to hide in plain sight, and all that shit. _Oi_ , what's with that look?"

The last was directed at Rikuo, who was blinking at his friend in blatant shock. " _Wha_ — you're not angry at me?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised." Sitting back and resting her hands on her hips, Kejōrō huffed and shook her head. "Kubinashi _just_ said it's not your fault, and it's true that we can't change it now without looking suspicious or at least a little weird. So the best plan is to prepare as much as we can in advance. Hey, Setsura," The older Yuki Onna glanced up, one hand absently untangling barely noticeable knots in her daughter's hair, "You probably know how to manipulate Fear the best — think you can come up with some way for us to stay concealed?"

Setsura narrowed her eyes thoughtfully (reminding Rikuo once again of how truly intimidating she was, since even that simple action gave her an almost dangerous aura). "It depends. For some, it will be easy — Rikuo and Nurarihyon will have little trouble. For others… well, we'll work with what we have. It is such a pity that the Fear of Nurarihyon cannot be shared."

Couldn't be shared? But what if, instead of sharing— Rikuo spoke up slowly, "Do you think it could be borrowed, Setsura?" When her eyes turned to him, he continued, "Since I can sort of borrow another yōkai's Fear if they let me, like with Kubinashi's string, do you think I'd be able to reverse the process? Sort of— um, I'm not sure how to describe it, but when I manipulate someone's Fear with my own, it kind of creates a link, right? What if I could use that link in the other direction, to use _my_ Fear on _them_ by connecting it to their Fear?"

Fuchsia eyes blinked once, then twice, and she pursed her lips. "I suppose we could try. It will be difficult in this form of yours, but— hm, perhaps this form would be more conducive to this than the other. They'll be here on Sunday, correct?"

"Yes."

She nodded sharply, exhaling a small puff of frosty air. "Alright. In that case, this is what we will do. You will work on attempting this technique with Zen and my daughter. They are both close to you, so I trust that if it can be achieved with anyone, they are the most likely. Kubinashi and Kejōrō, the two of you will determine which yōkai must leave, which ones can stay but must hide, and which ones will be safe in plain sight. Those who are staying, you will send to me so I can work on their Fear manipulation. Lady Wakana, you will decide which parts of the house will be off-limits and where set hiding places will be. I will inform Nurarihyon and the rest of the clan of what we are doing." Her eyes hovered over each of them in turn as they indicated their approval of the plan she had laid out, more than one of them sighing in relief.

If he hadn't already been sitting, Rikuo was pretty sure he would have fallen over. They weren't mad, he wasn't in trouble, they weren't mad and they had a _plan_ that might actually _work_. The rush of relief made him feel a little lightheaded, and a yawn escaped his throat before he realized it, drawing the eyes of the group back to him. Wakana's hands left the knots in his back to rest gently on his shoulders as he yawned again, covering his mouth and blinking tiredly. "Oh, sorry…"

"Oi, the fuck are you apologizing for?" Absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Zen tilted his head to the side and considered Rikuo with one narrowed eye. "Everyone's gotta sleep sometime, dumbass. Nothing wrong with being tired."

"Yeah, but—" His words trailed off into another yawn and he rubbed a hand over his eyes, which were abruptly beginning to fall shut against his will.

Kejōrō clucked her tongue and stood, brushing out her kimono and indicating for Kubinashi to join her. "Come on, then, let's get you to bed, Master Rikuo. Do you have enough energy to get back to your room?"

He did — well, he _thought_ he did, at any rate — but getting up right now sounded unpleasant. Zen's room was warm (Wakana had retrieved an electric space heater from— well, from _somewhere_ — because of the bird yōkai's delicate constitution and the draftiness of the main house), and he really was quite tired now that he thought about it. It wasn't like he needed to change, since he could sleep in his yukata (though he should probably take off the haori, as it was of a fairly good quality), and he could use one of the seating cushions as a pillow—

"Oh, never mind that." Setsura's mild, commanding voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he realized he'd been starting to drift off again. "Zen, you don't mind if Rikuo sleeps here tonight, do you? It will help him familiarize himself with your Fear, since you youngsters have such an unfortunate tendency to leak it while sleeping." She joined Kejōrō, resting one hand on her still-seated daughter's head. "We'll bring another futon and your bedding over, Rikuo. Please wait until then to sleep."

"Can I sleep over as well? Since Master Rikuo's going to be practicing with me too—"

Setsura glanced over at Zen, who just shrugged indifferently and turned away to set his comforters back in place, before turning to her daughter with one of her rare, small smiles. "You may, Tsurara. Good thinking. Would you like me to collect your bed things as well?"

The younger Yuki Onna shook her head quickly, beaming as she got to her feet. "No, I can get them! I'll be right back, Master Rikuo, so don't fall asleep without me!" She joined her mother and Kejōrō, and the three of them left the room together with Kubinashi trailing after in a state of mild confusion (he seemed to not really know _what_ he was supposed to be doing, so he just followed his friends). Wakana patted her son's shoulder one more time before she, too, stood and exited the room, covering a yawn of her own — she needed to sleep as well, of course, since she was always up early to take care of household tasks and make sure Rikuo was ready for school.

This left Rikuo and Zen in the room, alone with the sound of the wind rattling the eaves of the house and the quiet hum of the space heater. The warmth of the room wasn't helping Rikuo's tiredness, and he made an effort to keep his eyes open in spite of feeling very cozy (even without a bed to lay on) and very sleepy, blinking purposefully and raising his brows in order to tug his eyelids upwards. Zen glanced over and snorted at the amusing expression this created, crossing the room and crouching down to wave a hand in front of his friend's eyes.

Rikuo blinked yet again and scowled, batting his friend's hand away half-heartedly. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

"Hey, just making sure. You could be one of those weird people who fall asleep with their eyes open."

Grimacing and then laughing, Rikuo shook his head and ran one hand through his hair (it was all dry by now, but there were a few clumps that he probably should have brushed out after his shower that morning — was it just that morning? Today had been a _long_ day). "Is that really possible? To sleep with your eyes open, I mean."

"Heard about it somewhere. Could've been bullshit, but you never know." Zen rolled his eyes, sitting down properly and crossing his arms with his hands tucked into the folds of his sleeves. "Humans have some pretty bizarre medical conditions, even though they're practically all the same on the inside."

Well, he wasn't _wrong_ , and there was another interesting thought. Sure, it was completely unrelated to everything they'd been talking about, but now Rikuo was actually curious and _hey_ , it would help keep him awake and not focusing on all the things he was still a little panicky about. "You know, do yōkai even _have_ DNA? I mean, I'd assume you do, since otherwise how would they be able to— well, to reproduce with humans, but—"

Zen pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "Not sure. We've definitely got all of the internal organs and whatnot, but since we're so varied compared to humans— well, it's hard to say. Especially since it's not like any of us have really spent much time applying human science to yōkai — don't think I've met anyone else yet who even studies it. Kurōmaru was pretty surprised that I had human books."

"Huh? Kurōmaru?"

"He stopped by my place and grabbed a few things that didn't go up in smoke. Supplies, mostly, some clothing, a few books." The older yōkai gestured absently to the bookshelf. "Glad the mental one didn't get burnt — got it from my old man. Said I should learn from the humans, some nonsense about the Second's human side making him stronger. It is pretty interesting, though, I'll give it that."

Rikuo stifled another chuckle. "The DSM is _yours_? I thought Mom must have brought it in."

"Haah, why'd you think that? You think I can't read or something, asshole?"

"Well, now that you _mention_ it—"

"Oi!" Unable to quite stop the grin tugging at his lips, Zen flung a small volley of feathers at Rikuo, who laughed out loud and deflected them with Wakana's abandoned cushion before throwing said cushion at his friend's face. He received a surprised squawk in response as Zen toppled over backwards, flopping onto the floor with a quiet thump and immediately chucking the cushion back in retaliation. Dodging the soft projectile, Rikuo lunged forward to tackle his friend as Zen began to sit up, eliciting a grunt as he successfully pinned his friend by seating himself comfortable on his stomach. Zen rolled his eyes and laced his fingers together behind his head, using his hands as a temporary cushion. "Thought you were tired."

"That was before you shot feathers at me!"

"Ah, _touché_."

Huffing, Rikuo poked his friend in the shoulder. "Since when do you know _French_ , anyways?" Receiving no response but laughter, he sighed and climbed off of Zen to instead lean back on his friend like a pillow, hands folded loosely over his own stomach and eyes trained on the open wooden beams of the ceiling. From downstairs, the sounds of the apparently never-ending party filtered up, raucous laughter and possibly something (or some things) breaking, and Rikuo rolled his eyes and tried to tune the noise out. Outside, he could still hear the wind blowing, and if he focused enough he could make out the rustling of leaves past the rattling of the eaves, the sound evoking a feeling of wildness and openness that sunk into his bones with a sort of cool familiarity.

The green haori he'd borrowed earlier had smelt of aloe, but the robes Zen was wearing (or perhaps Zen himself — it wasn't like having a distinctive scent was something yōkai got particularly fussy about, since it just happened rather naturally) seemed to carry a mixture of two disparate smells; something a bit chilly and bitter that Rikuo would guess might be either a particularly unpleasant medicine, or the natural aroma of Zen's poison feathers, and a sort of thick sweet scent that reminded him of honey. It was an unusual combination, to say the least, but it seemed to fit Zen in a strange way — acrid and sharp, but with an odd sort of sweetness if you were actually willing to tolerate the bite to get to it.

His gaze drifted downwards and he flinched, quickly turning his head to the side before he caught sight of his chest again. The dysphoria had faded a bit over the day, but after that morning he didn't particularly want to risk it (after all, Zen would probably be pretty pissed if Rikuo went and vomited on him, which was more than enough incentive to not even _glance_ towards his chest again). Zen seemed to notice the flinch, because one pale hand entered Rikuo's field of vision and settled itself on top of his head, boney fingers idly mussing up his bangs and making his eyes cross as he tried to focus on them.

Light footsteps entered the corridor, heralding Tsurara's return, and as she pushed open the door (it must have been with her foot, since her arms were completely occupied with carrying a folded futon, thin blanket, and pillow) Rikuo raised one hand casually in greeting. Setsura appeared behind her daughter, also carrying a futon as well as Rikuo's blankets and pillow, and raised a slim eyebrow at them as she entered the room. "I didn't realize Zen was offering his services as a replacement for your pillow, Rikuo."

He didn't have any response to that other than a half-shrug and a chuckle, and pushed himself to his feet to take the futon from her arms and set it up beside Zen's as quickly as he could, the movement reminding him acutely that yes, he was quite tired. Tsurara crossed the room on quiet feet and laid hers out on his other side, so that she and Zen were essentially sandwiching him between their respective resting places. "Ah, Master Rikuo! Do you want me to help you—"

"No, no, I'm fine." He waved her off with what he hoped was a nonchalant smile, puffing up his pillow a few times before setting in place at the head of the futon and turning to shoot Zen a look as the older yōkai pushed himself into a sitting position. "Oi, Zen, get over here."

"Already doing that, dumbass."

Rikuo raised an eyebrow as he arranged his blankets neatly over one another (considering that he would be sleeping next to a Yuki Onna, the extra blanket was going to come in handy _very_ soon) and then half-turned to tidy up Zen's as his friend made his way over to the futons with a relatively insincere grumble. "Don't worry, I'm not going to throw another pillow at you."

Already finished setting up her futon, Tsurara gasped in mock outrage. "What? You had a pillow fight _without me_? Master Rikuo, I feel betrayed!"

"Wasn't a pillow fight." Zen huffed as he settled himself onto his bed, pulling the covers over his chest with one hand and adjusting the pillow under his head. "He threw a cushion at me and then sat on me when I tried to throw it back."

Snorting in amusement as he signed a quick ' _thank you_ ' to Setsura before she left, Rikuo carefully laid down on his back and rolled his shoulders as he got comfortable (he was used to sleeping in a western-style bed like his mother's, so even though he'd used futons many times it still took a bit of getting used to). "Yeah, and you're forgetting to mention the part about you _shooting feathers_ at me first. It was self-defense!"

Tsurara pouted. "Still… I want to have fun with Master Rikuo too…"

" _Fun_? He was literally sitting on me, what's fun about that?!"

Another tired laugh escaped Rikuo's throat as he blinked rapidly to try and stop the dry irritation that was prickling at his eyes. And _oh_ , it felt nice to close them and sink into the futon and pillow, the blankets a warm shield covering him and the comforting presence of his friends on either side. It would be very easy to just drift off right now, wouldn't it? And perhaps tomorrow would be better — no, not perhaps, it _definitely_ would be. His dysphoria would be better, they would have a plan to work on, the problems wouldn't be gone but they'd be easier to manage, and that was the important part. He felt his lips twitch into a smile, even though his eyes were closed and it was getting harder to stay conscious of his surroundings. "Let's go to sleep, you two."

"Keh, if you say so, _Master Rikuo_." Zen's words were sarcastic, but there was an audible lightness to the way he said them that took away the bite. "Don't go grabbing onto me like an urchin in your sleep, you hear?"

On his other side, Tsurara giggled and shuffled around under her single blanket until she was cozy (hopefully without overheating). "Don't worry, Master Rikuo, I don't mind if you hang onto me in your sleep!"

"What, you mean you won't melt from his body heat?"

"If you're not going to appreciate Master Rikuo's affection, I will!"

Even when going to bed, it was a bit of a mess. Somehow, Rikuo really shouldn't have been surprised that it would turn out like this, with Zen and Tsurara in the same room. He sighed quietly and burrowed a bit deeper under the covers. " _Goodnight_ , Zen, Tsurara."

"Goodnight, Master Rikuo! Sleep well!"

"'night, Rikuo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, a chapter that has almost nothing to do with the manga! TBH I don't really plan this stuff out, I just sort of wing it. Hence why this chapter might seem a little out of the blue. I'm not especially pleased with it — since I took a long break, I feel like my writing style fell off a bit — but I hope it's somewhat adequate!


	6. house visit (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got plans and precautions, and he's pretty sure he can get everyone through today unscathed and undiscovered.
> 
> Now if only he can stand wearing a skirt for that long.

"Wow, Miss Nura, your house is incredible! Just like a yōkai mansion!"

Rikuo did his best to disguise his instinctive flinch at Kiyotsugu's use of a feminine honorific, escorting the group of humans from the front gates to the sitting room and trying not to think about how much he wished he were wearing his usual yukata and haori. His house was supposed to be a safe place, where he could dress how he wanted and put his hair up like a boy and not have to worry about anybody using the wrong name or pronouns. To have his human friends — friends that he wasn't out to yet — intruding on that safe space… well, to say he was uncomfortable would be a significant understatement, and not just because of the knee-length skirt he was wearing to keep up the pretense. Binders were a necessary discomfort that he was more than happy to put up with, but he had barely worn a skirt in years and with the hem fluttering around his knees, he felt exposed.

The clothing wasn't the only point of stress, though. He had practiced without end since the afternoon at Kiyotsugu's house, but it still took most of his concentration to stretch out his latent Fear and twine it around his yōkai friends and family like a shield. Tsurara had insisted on abstaining from the visit and was locked up in her room, but Kubinashi — Shirō — had met up with the group a few blocks away from the main house to keep up the story that he was a neighbor, Rikuo's Fear already twined into his and only visible as a slight shadow around his wrists and jaw. He walked beside Rikuo now, patting him on the shoulder with a carefully projected aura of absentmindedness and tapping a finger-sign encouragement before breaking contact and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

One of the few things Rikuo had genuinely liked about the whole practicing-human-disguises issue was that the yōkai got to experiment with modern fashion and casual clothing. He wasn't really sure whether any of them actually had physical clothing or if it was all just an illusion (actually, come to think of it, he didn't even know if any of them had clothing other than what they wore. That seemed… a little unpleasant, frankly), but it was almost fun to see them slowly developing their own styles the more time they spent practicing their disguises.

He wasn't sure how he'd become quite so aware of clothing, since it really wasn't related at all to his duties with the clan or his human responsibilities. Perhaps it was because it was a significant part of his relationship with gender that he thought about it more than most boys his age probably did. Regardless, it had been amusing to note that Tsurara gravitated to cute blouses and twirly skirts, while Kubinashi seemed fond of loose cardigans and half-sleeve shirts that didn't look particularly practical for fighting, but perhaps that was part of the disguise. The neckless yōkai did tend towards being thoughtful about such things.

… Or he just liked wearing them. They did look _absurdly_ comfortable.

Not at all like the skirt jabbing into his waist and letting an uncomfortable amount of air brush past his legs as he sat down in proper seiza position, gesturing for his friends to join him around the low table in the sitting room. The table was another addition of his mother's, as most of the older yōkai seemed perfectly content with the floor. Rikuo suspected they would have given her quite a lot of trouble about all of the modernisms she'd brought to the house if it hadn't been for his father doing… well, something or other.

He couldn't hold back the instinctive flinch as his skirt started to ride up when he sat down, and in his mind he ran through and through a mantra of 'please let them have not noticed please let them have not noticed' as he tugged the hem down as far as it would go with shaking hands. Kubinashi, claiming the cushion beside him with all the grace of centuries of running and fighting, gently patted his back and tapped another quick reassurance on his shoulder. Before anyone else could, Kana sat down on his other side and offered him a warm smile. Had she picked up on his discomfort? Rikuo wouldn't be surprised, she was far more perceptive than he figured a lot of people gave her credit for, and just as empathic to match.

Looking around, she shivered slightly. "So this is the sort of house you live in, Rika… it feels a little scary."

"Yeah, like there's something lurking." Jirō chimed in, expression just a bit nervous. That feeling appeared to deepen when Kiyotsugu waved him off confidently, turning to look at Keikain beside him with an air of anticipation.

"The atmosphere just sets the mood. So, to begin!" His grin tugged wide, and Rikuo leaned back involuntarily. The recipient of the expression, however, seemed unfazed as the taller boy continued, "I'm sure we'd all like to hear more from Miss Keikain, since you're a real-live onmyōji and all. Go ahead, give us a lecture on what you know!"

She seemed almost surprised by the request, though her face remained admirably passive. "Well, um—" Rikuo leaned forwards, because whatever she said would probably be important to hear, and winced at the feeling of his breasts brushing against his upper arms. "—I guess to start with, that doll from before was a good example of what we call a 'Tsukumogami'." Immediately, Jirō spoke up to ask about what that was, and Keikain cut off Kiyotsugu's exclamation by continuing. "Well, the way it's said… 'After a period of one hundred years have passed, objects can obtain souls, transform, and play tricks on humans'. Tsukumogami are yōkai that develop from those sorts of objects."

_'Did you know that?'_

_'No.'_ Responding to Rikuo's carefully hidden finger-sign, single-handed and hidden by his leg, Kubinashi shifted a bit to find a slightly more comfortable position under the barely-present haze of Fear concealing him. _'But I'm not exactly an expert on these things, you know.'_

Well, Rikuo didn't exactly know — Kubinashi had never been particularly forthcoming about the details of his past, just that he'd joined Rihan somewhere around three centuries ago and that he'd been a thief before he died — but that wasn't particularly relevant, so he just shrugged slightly and turned back to Keikain, who had continued on to "—of supernatural phenomena, like the Furaribi you were talking about earlier. You know, some people suspect that one-third of all yōkai are fire-based." Beside him, Kana shivered slightly, and he wished he'd asked his mother to bring down the space heater — or at least some blankets. The Main House did tend to be drafty, and he should have known his friends wouldn't be used to it. Jirō was also looking a bit peaky, so Rikuo twisted one hand behind his back as covertly as possible and signed towards the door _'Could someone bring blankets and tea? Preferably Zen or Mom.'_ before returning his attention to the discussion. Someone was most likely watching, so he figured the request would go through without too much trouble.

"The most perilous are the yōkai that were once beasts," Keikain was saying, leaning forward with what looked like burning enthusiasm in her still-placid eyes. "Because they're usually very intelligent, but still ruled by their instincts. They're extremely dangerous. The part of them that was once an animal drives them to deceive, curse, slay, and devour, so you must be very careful to never come into contact with them!"

Both Jirō and Kana were starting to look pretty nervous, but before Rikuo could speak up to steer the conversation somewhere a bit less frightening (and sure, it was a biased retelling, but not even he could deny that there were a lot of yōkai just like what she was describing — his kind was far from faultless), she continued with even more energy in her voice than before. "Also, it's said that the one who controls the Hyakki Yakkō is the Supreme Leader of all yōkai, Nurarihyon." Beside him, Kubinashi's expression froze, and Rikuo thought his blood might have done the same. Shit. This was definitely going to just keep getting worse, wasn't it.

"Rumor has it that he's settled here, in Ukiyoe."

Oh, why did he even bother?

Even Kiyotsugu seemed a little uncomfortable, but Keikain just kept talking. "Even though Nurarihyon is is the master of yōkai, he's most just sort of a petty villain. He's the master because of the fear he inspires in humans — a sort of yōkai's yōkai, if that makes sense." Her eyes lit up, and the small braid woven into her hair bounced as she leaned forward. "And if I can defeat him, I'll earn a lot of respect back home. Since it's been our calling as onmyōji to eradicate yōkai, ever since ancient times, I swore to continue our tradition and this town will be my first step forward."

Now, that just made Rikuo angry. He knew, of course, that she wouldn't — couldn't — know what had made his grandfather and his family so powerful, couldn't know that it wasn't the fear he inspired in humans but the respect he inspired in his fellow yōkai that had brought Nurarihyon the power he'd attained. And not all yōkai were as bad as she described them — yeah, many were, but what about the yōkai like Kubinashi and his grandfather, who didn't harm humans at all? And the young yōkai like Tsurara and Zen, the little ones like Nattō and the ones like Karasu Tengu who hadn't been vicious like she described for centuries and centuries now — none of them deserved to be eradicated. They were living people just like she and him, with families and thoughts and feelings, and it wasn't fair of her to just say that they should be killed like pests—

His train of thought was interrupted when the door behind him opened, and he immediately sent another filament of Fear out to wrap around the newcomer just in case. A quiet snort greeted him first before a tray of warm tea was set down in the middle of their circle, and a pile of blankets dropped a bit less carefully beside him. "How's it going, kid?"

"Hey, Zen."

Tugging one of the blankets over her shoulders and passing the others along to Jirō and Kiyotsugu, Kana turned to the side to peer up at Zen as he leaned back, hands tucked into his sleeves. "Are you a friend of Rika's?"

"Tch, closer to brother, but sure. I've known this kid for years." The older yōkai knelt down between them and ruffled Rikuo's hair affectionately, the gesture (and Rikuo's half-hearted swat in response) completely genuine. They'd agreed that Zen's story, if asked, didn't need to be anything more than tweaked since a childhood friendship wouldn't seem strange to his human friends. "Wakana would've come down, but she's in the middle of that big book Setsura gave her, so I offered instead."

That part was entirely true — Setsura had handed Wakana a very large, very old scroll from 17th-century Kyōto, and Rikuo's mother had been making her way through it slowly for the past day and a half. "Thanks for stopping by, Zen. I appreciate it."

"Hey, anything to keep your friends from freezing to death in here. After my place is repaired, I'm gonna make you get all these drafts patched up. I can barely sleep from the cold." Now that was a blatant lie, but only because both he and Tsurara had insisted that Zen sleep closest to the heater and furthest from the window. Of course, the fact that Rikuo's restless sleeping did usually leave him half-sprawled over the older yōkai rather than their Yuki Onna companion probably helped. "Well, see you later."

Focusing as he was on keeping his Fear wrapped around Zen until his friend was far enough away, Rikuo almost missed the question that Jirō directed at him as everyone claimed a cup of tea. "Why's he staying with you, Nura? Something wrong with his house?"

"It, uh, kind of burned down?" That shouldn't give too much away, right?

Having clearly not been expecting that response, Jirō nearly dropped his cup, and Keikain — much to Rikuo's surprise — failed to conceal an undignified snort of laughter, quickly covering up with a sip of tea and an expression of nonchalance. The slight flush on her cheeks, however, and the tilt of her mouth once she lowered the cup, gave her away. Kana, on the other hand, glanced to the door and back in concern, blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. "That sounds awful. Was he there when it happened?" He nodded slightly, prompting the response of "Wow — was he okay?"

Rikuo shrugged, biting his lip in order to hold back his discomfort as the motion shifted the straps of the bra his mother had dug out of her closet for the day. It fit well enough, but the feeling was… more than unpleasant. "Some smoke inhalation and a few light burns, but otherwise he was fine — just a big drama queen, like usual."

Like a falcon's, her eyes focused on his face pensively. "You must have been so worried, Rika. To have a friend in danger like that."

"I—" He paused, because would it be dangerous to admit too much? A gentle tap on his leg from Kubinashi reassured him, and he nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I was. It was scary."

Beside him, Kubinashi snorted quietly. "Not as scary as you running into the damn building to get him. You're just lucky you got out before it started collapsing." Rikuo sent him a slightly scandalized look, because _really?_ Kubinashi hadn't even _been_ there, just heard about it afterwards, and he of all people knew Rikuo could take care of himself. In his periphery, he heard Kana gasp in shock, Jirō almost drop his tea again, and the soft sound of many cushions scooting forward in curiosity.

"You went into the building _too_?"

"Yes?"

A wide grin broke across Jirō's face as he stared at Rikuo with something suspiciously like wonder. "Man, that's so wicked, Nura! What a totally boss move!" Immediately, Kana reached out with hand to smack his shoulder.

"No, it wasn't, Jirō! That was really dangerous, she could have died!"

Carefully ignoring his internal wince and focusing on the point where Kubinashi had his littlest finger carefully resting against his knee for comfort, Rikuo shrugged again. "It wasn't really that bad — I'm small, so I could get through, and I only burned my feet a bit. And Zen is — he's sick, so he wouldn't have gotten out on his own, and I guess I— well, I wasn't really thinking about it, I guess, but I just figured I needed to help somehow."

"Hey, but—" This time it was Kiyotsugu piping up in curiosity as he set his tea back on the floor, "—how did you get him out? He's gotta be at least a quarter-meter taller than you!"

Oh, it was on. Rikuo may look like a girl to them, but that didn't mean he wasn't strong — he'd made sure of that, even in his human form. Staunchly ignoring the uncomfortable fluttering of his skirt as he stood, he crossed the room and nigh-effortlessly lifted his taller classmate up in the same carry Zen had told him he'd used that night. Much to his satisfaction, Kiyotsugu yelped in surprise as he was suddenly very much not sitting down anymore, instinctually flinging his arms around Rikuo's neck before he realized what had actually happened. Keikain was hiding a smile behind her cup again, and Kubinashi — curse and/or bless him — was trying and failing not to snicker in amusement.

Kana's eyes were blown wide in astonishment, and it took her a few moments to actually do more than open and close her mouth. "Wha— wow, you're really strong, Rika!"

"Hey, how'd you manage that, anyways?" Chiming in, Jirō took a break from where he'd been all but blatantly checking out Rikuo's arm muscles to look up at him in sly curiosity. "Man, if I could do that, I'd have chicks flocking _all_ over me."

"Pfft, yeah right."

Setting his classmate back down carefully and returning to his seat with as much decorum as possible, Rikuo smoothed out his skirt and made a face. "Exercise, I guess. How else do you think I get good scores in P.E., honestly?" It wasn't exactly a lie — he _did_ exercise a lot, just probably not the sort they thought he did. After all, he doubted most of them did strength training with Aotabō and agility with Kurotabō, and they probably didn't take swimming lessons from a Kappa like he had. "It's not like I could just do that without making an effort."

Well, he probably could, but it would hardly be fair.

Beside him, Kubinashi was still snickering behind one hand, and honestly what was so funny about this? Sure, Kana and Jirō were still staring at him like he'd somehow grown wings, and Kiyotsugu seemed to be stuck in a state of mild shock, and Keikain was still hiding a grin behind her tea, but it really wasn't that big a deal. Was it?

Fair, most normal twelve-year-old 'girls' probably wouldn't be strong enough to pick up significantly larger friends, but Rikuo was pretty sure his classmates had scratched him off of the list of 'girl' normalcy long ago. Which, now that he thought about it, made the feminine dress-up for the day rather redundant and an unnecessary, but — well, he was already in the thick of it, may as well see it through.

From there, the conversation devolved back into fairly regular chatter. Kiyotsugu spent most of the time prompting Keikain for more information and facts about yōkai, while Kana and Jirō slowly pulled Rikuo into a discussion of the book they were reading in their Literature class, which Kubinashi chimed in on every now and then (as a side effect of his cover, he was actually getting a fairly decent middle school education — far more than he'd had when he was actually human). He told them between sips of tea about how his English class was about to start reading, by popular demand, an American fiction novel published last year called _'Maze Runner'_ , which sounded… well, pretty self-explanatory, once one parsed out the grammar to find the meaning. Jirō immediately jumped into a rant about how excited he was about the book, and how he hoped they'd come out with a Japanese translation soon because his football friends in America had told him a lot about it and it sounded _totally cool_ , and Kubinashi (exchanging an amused glance with Rikuo) said he'd pass on his copy once they were done with it in class.

Keikain seemed to keep glancing at the door, and Rikuo did his best to reel in his instinctive panic reaction. She was probably just curious about the rest of the house — Kiyotsugu had described it as being 'just like a yōkai mansion', after all, and it would only make sense for her to be at the very least skeptical about the place. It didn't mean she necessarily suspected anything about it in particular.

He'd asked Nurarihyon to use his Fear, which was rather more substantial than Rikuo's own, to help mask the aura of the Main House itself, which had the added benefit of obscuring most of the lesser yōkai who lived there and couldn't exactly conceal their own Fear effectively. It had the added bonus of keeping his grandfather in a different part of the house, away from him and more importantly his friends — Rikuo trusted Nurarihyon not to let anything slip, but he'd rather not have his grandfather making mischief in the same room as an onmyōji. Regular humans was one thing, it could almost be funny (when it wasn't downright mean or petty), but pranking or stealing from an onmyō like Keikain was just asking for trouble.

Rikuo would really rather have trouble stay far away from him at the moment.

* * *

As the day wore into evening, he managed to drag himself out of the now-intense discussion he'd been having with Jirō and Keikain about literature, of all things (Keikain's interest in the subject didn't surprise him, but Jirō's rather had — he'd always assumed that his friend was more invested in sports than anything else, especially school, but now he was starting to think his opinion could do with some revising) to ask if any of them would like to stay for dinner. He didn't particularly want them to (and neither did Kubinashi, judging by the older yōkai's quiet sigh), but it was the polite thing to do and might make Wakana happy. It was never said out loud, but Rikuo got the feeling that his mother was a bit sad that he never had friends over for her to meet and get to know, so if anyone did want to stay… well, at least one person would enjoy it.

"For dinner?" Keikain was the first to respond, eyes immediately turning to him, and he remembered with a start that she was living on her own. Judging by how she seemed to revere food (he'd seen her racing to buy buns at lunch like he often did, and she appeared to hoard coupons obsessively), he should have realized that the offer of free (and home-made) dinner would catch her attention. "Ah, I mean, if you're offering—"

Rikuo knew what he should do. He should come up with an excuse, an explanation, an 'oops I forgot we're actually doing a thing so you can't stay'. As much as Keikain was just a kid, she still posed a significant threat to his clan and family, and he shouldn't do anything to jeopardize the fragile safety they'd constructed. He should regretfully rescind the suggestion, but offer to take her out for lunch sometime to make up for it (he was a yōkai, not an asshole, after all). He knew very well, from the tensing of Kubinashi's shoulders and the eyes he could feel on his back, what he should do.

What he actually did was smile and say, "Of course. I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind."

Keikain's eyes lit up, expression relaxing and showing for the first time just how young she really was (he hadn't even realized how tense she looked before). Beside him, Kana leaned forward a bit with a small smile. "Could I stay as well? I haven't seen Ms. Wakana in a while. Jirō, Kiyotsugu, Mister Ayatori, what about you?"

"Can't, I've got early practice tomorrow and Mom'll have a conniption if I'm not home for dinner and early bed." Despite his tone, Jirō didn't seem too regretful as he stood and did his best to fold up the blanket he'd been borrowing, setting it on top of his cushion with a grin. "You know how it goes — life goes on, football waits for no man. I'll see you all tomorrow, though!"

Kiyotsugu also stood, folding his own blanket with rather less care than Jirō had and placing it on top of his cushion as well. "As for myself, I would stay, but my uncle actually found a particularly fascinating artifact the other day, and he promised we would research it together tonight." He and Jirō made their way to the door, while Rikuo subtly sent another finger-sign message to whoever was keeping an eye on him to make sure the hall was clear and that the boys didn't go anywhere but the door. The afternoon had gone as well as he could have hoped for, and he sincerely didn't want it to flub up now. There weren't any noises of surprise or shock, and after a few moments he could hear the two chatting outside as their voices faded into the distance, so it seemed to have been a success.

"I'll go help in the kitchen." Rikuo pulled his attention back to his remaining companions at Kubinashi's statement, watching him stand and brush out the wrinkles in his pants. He hadn't borrowed a blanket, already used to the chill of the main house, so he just placed his cushion on top of Jirō and Kiyotsugu's before heading to the door. "See you later, Rika." _'Be careful, and please don't invite them to stay the night. Tsurara might just explode.'_

The signed comment made the (necessary) use of his dead name feel a little less uncomfortable, so Rikuo managed to smile and wave off Kana and Keikain's curious glances as Kubinashi left the room. "Kino does a lot of the cooking, so he likes to help her."

Predictably enough, Kana cooed and even Keikain broke into a small smile at that tidbit. "Aw, that's so sweet! Do you think he likes her, Rika?"

"Er—" Really, it wasn't his place to say — Rikuo knew very little about the exact nature of the relationship between the two, so even if he were the sort to gossip he wouldn't have much to tell. In some ways, it confused him — they seemed as close as lovers, but never really expressed any romantic actions (or sexual ones, for that matter) towards each other — but since it worked for them, he just supposed that was that. "—They're very close, I think. If there's more — well, they'd tell me if they wanted me to know." That should be safe enough. Reasonable, not too uninterested but not sharing to the point of unnecessary gossip either.

Kana sighed and pouted a bit, interested apparently appeased for the moment. "That's nice. I don't even know anyone like that for me — well, there's you and Jirō, but you're— well, you’re my friends, so it’s different. And most of the boys at school — I mean, Ayatori seems nice, and Jirō and Kiyotsugu are alright, but… Oh, I don't know. It just doesn't seem like I'd want to be like that with any of them anyways."

"What, dating?"

She made a face at Rikuo's comment. "Or even just the sort of tiptoeing thing couples do before they get together. Just, none of them seem all that appealing, somehow."

'Girl talk' hadn't exactly been on his radar for the evening, but at least it wasn't the worst that could happen, so Rikuo just laughed quietly. "I can see that. It is a time where w— er, where they're in a bit of a mess, somewhat. I mean, it's the same for y— for us, but you know." And, because it wouldn't be polite to leave her out, he turned the discussion to Keikain (who had just been watching with an expression of stoic bemusement), "What about you, Miss Keikain?"

"Eh?" Her cheeks flushed pink in surprise and she shook her head rapidly, hands flapping in front of her in a clear 'no-no-no' gesture. "No way! I mean, in Kyōto, it's not— that is, it's much the same as Ukiyoe. Even in the senior high level, they're mostly just as much a mess."

Kana tilted her head to the side. "Senior high? You know people that old, Yura?"

"Only a few. My older brother is in senior high, so sometimes I run into his classmates on campus."

Somehow, Rikuo found himself strangely unsurprised at the new knowledge that Keikain was a younger sibling. At least, it didn't seem strange that she wash't the eldest in her family, though he supposed it would make about as much sense for her to be an only child (like himself and Kana). Idly, half-listening to Kana asking her further questions, he wondered if Keikain's older brother was as proficient an onmyōji as she was. Even if he wasn't — even if he was barely an onmyōji at all — Rikuo was extremely grateful that this older brother hadn't accompanied Keikain to Ukiyoe. One member of the family in the same town as the main house was risky enough for his tastes.

And speaking of family— "Ah, there's my mother." Even though she didn't have any Fear and was 100% pure human, Rikuo could always tell when Wakana was nearby. When he mentioned it to her, she laughed and told him it was because she was his mother, and that was enough for him (personally, he thought it was because she always brightened the house around her). As she stepped into the room, he stood and tugged once more at the hem of his skirt before gesturing gently towards her with an open hand. "Mom, this is Miss Keikain Yura, and Kana, who you know. Kana, Miss Keikain, this is my mother, Wakana."

Bowing at the waist formally, Wakana straightened up with a warm smile and seated herself in seiza on Rikuo's abandoned cushion. "I'm Nura Wakana. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Keikain. And Kana, it's been too long! You've grown up so fast." Turning to glance at her son, she added, "Kino and Shirō are almost done with dinner, so would you go help bring it in? You can change while you're gone, since Setsura wants to do the laundry early tonight." By her side, she signed a silent addendum (it had been all but inevitable that she would learn a fair amount of yōkai finger-sign in her time with the clan, and he'd made sure she was just as 'in-the-know' as anyone else because she _deserved_ to be). _'Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on your friends. Wear what will make you comfortable. I'm proud of you.'_

"Alright. I'll be back soon."

Before he could quite exit the room, she added, "Oh, invite Zen to join us as well."

Well, Rikuo trusted her judgement, so he wasn't exactly going to argue, but— "Zen? Well, as long as he promises not to throw anything at me. I'm still recovering from last time, you know!"

"From what?"

Kana's blurted question held a note of concern, and Rikuo did his best to grin over his shoulder with complete transparency as he pushed open the door. "A pillow fight. That I won."

It was entirely worth the potential embarrassment later, he thought, when hers and Keikain's laughter followed him down the hallway as he made his way up to his bedroom to change. It was a little slower going than usual, as he had to keep his focus on the strands of 'borrowed' fear that he had wrapped around Zen, Kubinashi, and Kejōrō as well as himself, but the changing itself was quick and easy. Since Wakana had given him permission (well, not so much permission as a gentle order) to wear whatever was comfortable rather than what would keep up his pretense, he immediately shucked the skirt and v-necked t-shirt in favor of a black yukata and red haori, tugging his hair back into a small ponytail and smacking himself lightly on the cheeks a few times to bolster his energy. The afternoon was almost through, and soon he'd be able to relax and use the right pronouns again and finish his homework (oops, maybe he should have done that earlier).

Soon. He just had to make it through dinner first. _How difficult could that be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I've been in a writing funk, so even though I've had most of this written for months... I dunno, I wanted to make it longer? But I've decided to just end it here, and then do a part two for the evening that's going to be completely divergent from canon. So look forward to that!
> 
> As always, comments and reviews are deeply appreciated!


	7. house visit (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There are many things to know about one another (even if some have to stay hidden for now)._

Night had fallen, cool and dark and with a comfortingly familiar hum, by the time Rikuo padded carefully down the stairs (old, occasionally the location of mischief and merriment that he was just a little too tired for tonight) to rejoin his mother and classmates. Zen followed reluctantly, footsteps as deceptively soft as his poison feathers and a resigned expression tugging across his features as he pulled his haori a little closer over his shoulders. “You _really_ had to go and invite them to dinner? Look, I know you wanna stay close to your human friends, but this is—”

“Like I said, I didn’t think it through!” And he was already starting to regret that — all the more reason to keep working on his situational awareness. “It was the polite thing to do, and I didn’t realize— Keikain’s living on her own, on a tight budget, of _course_ she wasn’t going to refuse.”

Zen raised a slow brow. “She is, is she?”

“She’s got a load of coupons in her purse — a bunch fell out when she sealed the Tsukumogami, since she keeps her onmyō stuff in there too.” He shrugged, slowing as they reached the doors to the main room. From within, Wakana’s soft voice was audible, deep in conversation with Kana’s bright tones and the slightly mellower cadence of Keikain’s speech. Rikuo took a few moments to breathe in deeply, hold, breathe out deeply. Focus on the strands of fear wrapped around his friends, focus on the thought of _just-dinner-and-then-he’ll-be-free-again_ , and breathe out again. Being back in his clothes — the clothes that felt right on his skin — helped his nerves a bit, and the rational part of his mind (the part that tended to go on a vacation whenever gender came into the equation) whispered that a yukata was fairly unisex, so nobody would think anything odd of him wearing one. His secret would be safe. _Both_ of them would. He could do this.

As soon as he slid the door open, Wakana looked up and smiled brightly at him even as she continued speaking, “—and then, of course, it would have been rather difficult to go off to England with a child in tow, but Rihan— my husband, he had inherited quite a lot of old texts, so I’ve been working with those ever since. Hello, dear, Zen.”

“What have you been talking about?” Rikuo asked, returning to his seat and pushing an additional cushion into place for Zen to join him.

Rocking back on her heels excitedly, Kana beamed at both him and Wakana, as though unsure of who to smile at first (or last). “Oh, Miss Wakana was telling us how she met Mr. Nura! It’s an awfully sweet story, don’t you think?”

Rikuo made a valiant effort to conceal his instinctive wince at the mention of his father ( _poetry Kerria blossoms a girl a sword in a bush red red red_ ), instead turning to his mother with what he hoped was a sincere smile. “I don’t think you’ve actually told me that one, Mom.”

Something about his face must have given it away, because she immediately sighed and leaned over to place a light hand on his shoulder. Her previously happy expression melted away into one that seemed an awful lot more bittersweet. “Remind me tomorrow, and I will.” He nodded, and she smiled softly before standing with all the grace and ease of a woman well accustomed to running her home. “I’ll go check on how dinner’s coming along. It will be ready soon, so please wait just a little longer.”

As Wakana left the room, Keikain glanced briefly between her and Rikuo, before leaning over to mutter (a little _too_ loudly to be covert) to Kana, “What was that about? Is there something wrong with her husband?”

“He died.” It was Zen who spoke up, no-nonsense and arms crossed, long robes trailing far enough across the floor for Rikuo to quietly rub one of the edges between his index finger and his thumb. “About eight or so years ago, give or take. Since he was the head of the family, it was a big deal at the time — that’s why that old grandpa is still around and croaking. Gotta run the household and all that.” Which was a fine explanation that conveniently left out the facts that the ‘family’ was a yōkai syndicate and that Nurarihyon was many centuries old (and counting). Zen was often rather good at those sorts of lies — the ones that merely left out parts of the truth, rather than replacing them. Not to say that Rikuo _wasn’t_ , but Zen had a particular way with them that left no-one even considering the possibility of something more being unsaid beneath the blasé attitude.

However— “What, are you kidding?” Rikuo straightened up to stare at his friend in disbelief. “When it comes to running the household, it’s _obviously_ Mom and Setsura who’re in charge.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Kana giggled at the resigned groan that accompanied Kubinashi’s return, his hair a bit messier than before and the scent of food hovering around his clothes. “I appreciate Miss Wakana deeply, but if I’m being honest? Sometimes she scares me.” He sat down heavily on the cushion Wakana had abandoned, earning scattered laughter from the entire group and Rikuo’s cheeky grin.

“Well, at least that’s just ‘sometimes’. I’m _always_ a little afraid of Setsura, honestly.” The concealing fear was still strong, still there. Rikuo poured just a little more energy into it, tapping a short rhythm on his thighs in the hopes of distracting from any odd expression he might have made. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Gramps is too.”

Kubinashi snorted. “As he _should_ be. She’s a menace— don’t tell her I said that, though,” He hurried to add, glancing at their human guests with a well-crafted expression of youthful concern, “or she’ll come for my head, and then Tsurara will _too_ , and I am _too young_ to die that way.” A tiny twitch of his mouth told Rikuo that he found it inordinately amusing to call himself young — which he sort of was, for a yōkai, but over 300 still wasn’t exactly something to scoff at. “Besides, I think the scaring you is on purpose, Ri— Rika. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to see your floor for the old laundry.”

“Hey, okay, I’m not _that_ bad!”

“ ‘Tsurara too’? Does Miss Oikawa know Miss— um, Setsura?” Kana asked hesitantly, leaning forward ever so slightly. Rikuo wondered why she was curious — well, he supposed she and Tsurara would probably get along alright, especially since Tsurara was fairly young for a yōkai herself. Maybe they could even grow to be good friends — that way, if Kana ever found out about… well, about _him_ , she’d still have a close girl friend to turn to (and wouldn’t have to feel bad about inevitably not talking to him anymore).

But it was an innocent enough question, so he shifted to find a more comfortable seat and glanced at Zen (why, he wasn’t sure — maybe the idea that looking at Zen would grant him his friend’s miraculous ability to be direct and obfuscating in the same sentence) before answering. “Setsura is Tsurara’s mother — she was friends with my dad, so after he— well—”

His voice trailed off, throat tightening reflexively until it felt like even breathing was a challenge.

(Why did this always happen?)

“After Rihan died, Setsura stormed in and insisted on helping Wakana raise this one — that’s why she and Tsurara moved into the neighborhood.” Zen finished smoothly, tapping a short sign on the side of his thigh ( _‘take it easy, remember’_ ) while remaining impressively impassive. “I imagine she thought your grandfather wouldn’t do a very good job of it — can’t really say she’s _wrong_ , either.”

Something seemed to spark in Kana’s eyes, and she turned slightly to look at Keikain with a smile. “Hey, didn’t you say you were raised by your grandfather too?”

“Huh? I don’t remember hearing about that.”

“It was while we were talking to Miss Wakana — you were changing your clothes. I like the yukata, by the way,” She added, flicking bangs out of her face and giving Rikuo a small thumbs-up, “It makes you look so— hm, professional? Like, you’re all cool and smart-looking. It, uh—“ Seeming to realize her tangent, Kana’s cheeks flushed a pale pink and she waved a hand as though to dismiss what she was saying, even as she continued to speak. “—it suits you, kind of. More than the skirt and all, since I haven’t seen— well, you _haven’t—_ you’re always wearing the boy’s uniform, so I’m just used to seeing you in blacks, I guess?”

Caught off-guard, Rikuo could only manage a surprised, “T-thanks?”

Expression a little embarrassed, Kana shrugged helplessly and turned back to Keikain. “Anyways, so— being raised by your grandfather, what was that _like_?”

The onmyōji thought for a few moments, dark eyes narrowed without any real anger. “… I think we bonded over TKG.” When everyone’s gazes turned to her in confusion, she tapped her fingers together while recalling the story. “Well, basically everyone grows up in the main compound, right? Main house and branch families — so me and my big brother and all our cousins spent a lot of time together as kids. Well,” She amended with an exasperated huff, “My brother and our cousins did. I’m the youngest, so Gramps always made them take me along.”

Zen laughed under his breath, nudging Rikuo’s shoulder. “Sounds like you, don’tcha think?”

“Nobody _told_ you to keep an eye on me.”

“Psh, yeah, because you were always underfoot anyways.”

Rolling his eyes, Rikuo gestured to Keikain to continue. “Sorry, this asshole doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. So you were saying?” _‘Zen, at least be polite and stop interrupting.’_

_‘Who was it who responded?’_

Fingers by his side, Kubinashi signed a quick (and clearly exasperated) _‘Stop it!’_ to both of them as Keikain laughed quietly behind a hand and continued.

“Anyways, one time, my brother Ryūji and my cousin Akifusa and I were exploring the compound, and someone mentioned this— my Gramps has this big fancy urn in his study. And we had _no idea_ what was in it, so we snuck in to take a peek.” Though her face was relatively impassive, something about the tilt of her brows and the slight crease of her eyes indicated absolute delight with the events she was retelling. Beside her, Kana was leaning forward in anticipation. “And it was— just soy sauce. But really fancy, right? He had this big jug of really old, fancy _soy sauce_ in his study. Ryūji and Akifusa were both disappointed, but I figured— it’s fancy stuff, which means it’s probably really high-quality, yeah? So I decided to try some.”

At this point, Kana was giggling aloud, and from his position Rikuo could see a reluctant grin creeping onto Zen’s face. He almost felt himself chuckling — it sounded amusingly reminiscent of some of the things he had gotten up to as a kid. Kubinashi seemed to have the same idea, if the exasperated look he shot Rikuo was any indication. (It took a lot of self-control not to laugh out loud at that).

Fully in the swing of the story, Keikain didn’t even try to disguise her own smile as she kept talking, gesturing excitedly. “Of course, I was a kid, right? So I can’t make _much_ , but we had an electric rice cooker and I knew how to use that, so I decided to make some TKG to try the soy sauce with.” She giggled aloud. “Gramps caught me right as I was prepping it, but— then he approved, I think? Of the TKG? So then we ended up making TKG together a lot of mornings. I think my brother was a bit jealous, but he doesn’t like TKG so he wasn’t allowed anyways.”

Her face was so full of almost childish satisfaction that Rikuo couldn’t help but let a few giggles loose. Beside him, Kana was doing much the same. Keikain seemed immensely pleased with the reaction (insofar as her apparently limited range of expression could show), eyes flickering between the two of them and that slight smile still present and making her cheeks dimple ever so slightly.

And, of course, that was when Zen started coughing.

Perhaps it was the laughing, or some lingering smoke damage, or just another one of his flare-ups (He’d told Rikuo, a few days into his stay at the main house, that they’d gotten more frequent)— but regardless of the reason, one moment Zen was sitting casually beside Rikuo and chuckling under his breath at Keikain’s story, and the next he was hunched over with a hand pressed to his mouth and his back shaking with each painful-sounding cough. Small sprays of blood escaped through the gaps between his fingers, falling onto the floor without a sound.

“Shit, Zen!” Immediately leaning over his friend, all traces of humor gone, Rikuo wrapped an arm around Zen’s shoulders and used the other to sign at Kubinashi rapidly. _‘Zen’s not well— let mom know, get someone to help him back to his room? I can’t leave them alone.’_ The older yōkai nodded silently, standing and exiting the room on feet as soft and deadly as a cat’s paws, leaving Rikuo to press his now-free hand against the side of Zen’s arm in a meaningless attempt to help quell the tremors running through his friend’s body. Zen was always a bit on the feverish side of warm, but his skin was almost painfully hot now— had he been feeling ill earlier? Rikuo should have noticed, let him stay in his room or told him to get more sleep, he should have done _something—_

A small, hesitant hand reached across his body to press against Zen’s shoulders next to his, and he looked up to see a worried (if somewhat startled) expression on Kana’s face. “Is he— is he alright?”

Behind her, Keikain looked similarly concerned, and Rikuo didn’t have the energy to ponder whether it was genuine or a facade. “He’s— Well, not— It’s complicated?” When neither of his classmates seemed appeased by that, he sighed and leaned back slightly so that Zen (whose coughing fit was starting to abate, though there was still blood staining his lips in a few places) could lean heavily against his shoulder with uneven breaths. “It’s— it’s a terminal illness of some sort? It just started getting worse a few years ago, and since then it’s kind of been— uh, progressing, I guess? We’re not really sure about the technicalities,” A blatant lie, because they all knew full well _exactly_ what was happening to Zen, just not the precise timing, “But as far as we know, it’s just going to keep getting worse. I think the— the smoke, from the fire? Might have caused it to— to flare up, a bit. Zen, are you okay?”

“Keh, could be better.” The bird yōkai grunted, rubbing a hand against his temple as though it pained him before wiping it roughly across his mouth. “Not the worst I’ve had either, though.”

For a few moments, the room was quiet but for the sound of Zen’s raspy breathing, a few stubborn coughs escaping his throat as his lungs attempted to clear themselves. Kana looked like she wanted to help, but hesitation kept her in her seat, while Keikain simply glanced between them as though unsure of the puzzle before her. Presently, Kubinashi returned with Kejōrō at his heels (Rikuo barely remembering in time to twist Fear around both of them, tight and _safe_ ), and together they helped Zen to his feet and out of the room.

As the door slid shut, Kana turned to look at Rikuo. “Shouldn’t he go to a doctor? That looked really bad, and if it’s _terminal—_ ”

Shaking his head, Rikuo said, “No, it’s fine. Zen’s a doctor, himself — family practice — so he’s got it under control. And if he knows what’s good for him,” He raised his voice, fully intending the sound to carry down the hallway, “He’ll _get some goddamn sleep_!”

“Rika! Language!”

Biting the inside of his lip to keep from flinching at the dead name, Rikuo felt himself starting to smile in spite of the stressful turn the conversation had taken. “Ah, that’s right, I don’t usually swear at school, do I? _Clearly_ ,” Affecting the tone of a long-suffering friend, “He’s been nothing but a bad influence on me. What would my poor mother say?”

“She’d say,” Wakana’s voice appeared in the doorway, soft and amused, as Kana burst into a fresh round of giggles and Keikain hid a grin behind her hands, “That dinner is ready. Shirō and Kino won’t be joining us, I’m afraid — they seemed rather adamant that someone keep an eye on Zen.” She placed one tray of food onto the low table, followed by another of clean dishes and utensils, and brushed one fond hand through Rikuo’s bangs before leaning forward to serve the meal. “And I do hope you know that as long as he makes you happy, that’s all I care about.”

Those definitely weren’t a few tears prickling at his eyes. Of course not. (He didn’t _need_ her to tell him that, but at the same time— maybe it was a little nice to hear). Rikuo leaned into the touch with a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Why do you say that, Miss Wakana?” Reaching forward to accept her food with a gracious nod of thanks, Kana glanced between them thoughtfully while tapping her chopsticks against the edge of her bowl. “Rika, are you and he— like _that_?”

“Like wha— what, you mean _dating?_ Why would I be—”

“Well, since your mom said _‘as long as he makes you happy’_ , so I just wondered!”

“You are awfully touchy with him, too.” Keikain pointed out, eyes trained on her own meal as though anxious to start eating. Rikuo felt his face flush, the comment not-at-all helped by his mother’s soft laughter as she settled in beside him and filled her own bowl. They paused the conversation momentarily to press their hands together and murmur ‘itadakimasu’ before digging into the meal, though the onmyōji continued her questioning as soon as she resurfaced for air (a few grains of rice stuck to her cheek, which looked _far too cute_ for a girl who could probably kill his entire family). “I mean, I know he was sick, but that was _still—_ ”

Rikuo groaned and buried his face in his hands, chopsticks held haphazardly in one. “It’s not anything like that! Zen’s just— we’ve known each other for _ages_ , he’s like my brother! Just because I’m—“ _A girl_ , but he wasn’t and he wasn’t about to say it. “— and he’s— okay, so he’s seen me shirtless, not a big dea— oh, no. No, no _no, Kana don’t you start—_ ”

“He’s _what_?” His friend’s eyes were almost sparkling, like some ridiculous shōjo anime. She leaned forward, forgetting her food momentarily in order to stare at Rikuo as though simply looking at his face might grant her answers. “Rika, if you’re not dating _yet—_ ”

Set to the background of Wakana’s laughter, Rikuo pressed fingers into his temples and resisted the urge to smack his forehead against the table ( _why_ had he mentioned that, of course Kana would think—). “No, it’s not like that! He’s my doctor, so of course he’s had to— to do check-ups and stuff! Mom, _come on_ , help!”

“Well, if you hadn’t taken off your shirt in the middle of his room the other night—“

“ _Mom that’s not helping!_ ”

Kana’s eyes were as round as teacups, and Keikain was futilely attempting to stifle her giggles with greedy mouthfuls of food. Waving his hands emphatically, Rikuo tried to explain, “No, see— it was just my back had been hurting, because—” Because he’d been wearing his binder all day, but that wasn’t something he could tell them. “—I, uh, might have hurt it when I went to get him out of his house! And so he wanted to make sure I was alright, and it’s not like anyone really goes upstairs all that much _anyways_ , and Shirō didn’t even really look— Oh, _why do I bother_?” He finished, resigning himself to his fate as Kana nearly choked on her water and Keikain snorted in amusement mid-way through a mouthful of rice.

“Mister Ayatori _too?_ _Seriously—_ ”

“He was just hanging out! To— to see _Kino_! It wasn’t— he just _happened_ to be there, it really wasn’t—“

Why had his evening devolved to this? Sure, it probably sounded a lot weirder out of context, but it really wasn’t if you just knew all the facts. Rikuo wasn’t a girl, so it wasn’t weird for Zen or Shirō— er, Kubinashi ( _oops_ )— to see him shirtless. And of course, he couldn’t tell Kana or Keikain that, so of course they’d think there was something strange. He took a resigned bite of food, listening to Kana as she eventually gave up her line of questioning and instead drew Wakana and Keikain back into a continuation of their previous conversation.

Still, this wasn’t too bad. His mom got to have some company, and Keikain was (hopefully) too distracted by the food and chatter to continue being suspicious. She still sent a few looks his way, but they seemed more curious than anything, so Rikuo was holding onto the hope that it really was just his apparent cross-dressing that had caught her attention.

He was wearing clothes that fit (even if his body didn’t), he’d spent an afternoon and evening with his friends, and soon all this would be over and he’d finally be able to sleep.

* * *

This night was _never going to end_ , was it?

“Actually, you can go ahead. I’d like to speak with Miss Nura for a moment.”

Kana glanced up from where she was focused intently on the buttons of her coat, expression at ease despite the slight chill of the evening. “Huh? Alright then, I’ll wait at the corner— you shouldn’t have to walk home alone after dark, after all.” Keikain inclined her chin in what looked like gratitude, and Kana turned to give Rikuo a last hug before she slipped on her shoes and left the house. He could see a few small shapes hurry deeper into the shadows of the foliage, but she didn’t seem suspicious of any of them.

If only his _other_ classmate could be as unconcerned.

Keikain’s eyes felt like they were drilling into him, and he rubbed the edge of one of his sleeves nervously. “Here, um— do you want to talk in here? Or, uh, or— um, the garden?”

“Anywhere we can sit for a moment.”

That— did that bode _well?_ Or _badly?_ Rikuo bit the inside of his cheek and tried to conceal the fact that his heart was racing at what felt like a kilometer a minute. Desperately, he wished someone else were with him to face this— _whatever_ this was— but Wakana had gone to bed immediately after dinner (Setsura having offered to do the washing-up), and Kubinashi and Kejōrō were both keeping an eye on Zen, who was apparently finding it difficult to stop coughing long enough to actually fall asleep. “Uh, how about the garden? Er, I mean, the porch? Which is in the garden?”

Somehow, his stammering earned him something almost like a smile from Keikain, which— which meant she probably hadn’t realized anything? An onmyōji definitely wouldn’t be smiling at someone they knew was a yōkai, right?

He lead her around the side of the yard, carefully trying to lay a blanket of his Fear over the area and hoping that anyone still hiding there will be sufficiently covered by it. “So, um— what did you want to talk about? Are you— is it school? Because, um, if it is— Miss Torii from our class is _really_ smart, she’d be better to ask? Unless it’s about PE, but I’m not sure why you’d ask about—”

“It’s not about school.”

Whatever it was that flowed in his veins, blood or Fear or some combination of both, turned to ice. “O-oh. So what is—”

“Nura,” Keikain turned to face him, crossing her legs and leaning forward with a determined expression, “Why haven’t you told them?”

 _Shit._ This was very, _very_ not good. Maybe she had just been luring him, and now she was going to make him admit it and try to exorcise him. Then she’d go for Zen, _of course_ , because now she knew Zen was sick and _vulnerable_ , and then Kubinashi and Kejōrō and Tsurara— “Told them _what_ , Keikain?”

The question came out as more of a snap than Rikuo had really intended, and she leaned back slightly. “That you’re transgender?”

His brain froze, and he couldn’t do more than gape at Keikain as she studied his face thoughtfully. “Granted, I don’t know them well, but I don’t think they’d make much of an issue of it. So why go to the trouble?” Before he could get a word in to argue— well, to argue _what_ , he wasn’t sure— she cut him off with the most exasperated expression he’d seen her make yet. “Look, it’s fine if you don’t _want_ to come out, but clearly Mister Ayatori and your family know, so why not Miss Ienaga and the others?”

“I— what— _h-how?”_ He thought he’d been careful enough, he’d even worn a _skirt_ , so how—

She sighed and crossed her arms, glancing to the side hesitantly. “My brother Ryūji is transgender. He came out when I was really little, so I never really knew him as anything other than _‘him’_ , but— like I said earlier, we spent a lot of time together because the adults were always busy, so I’ve seen all of the tics and stuff. The fidgeting, the way you kept flinching when your arms were like this—” She made a motion of raising her arms forward, close enough to her chest that they brushed against her sides, before dropping them again. “— and that’s without mentioning how Mister Ayatori always stumbles over your name, and your Mom and other friend just didn’t use it at all. For a while when I was younger, Ryūji didn’t want the family elders to know he was a boy, so Gramps and Akifusa and Mamiru and I ended up doing that a lot too.”

Well, that was— better than Rikuo had expected. “Keikain, I’m just—”

“Call me Yura. And I’m guessing your name isn’t really ‘Rika’, is it?”

He sighed. She really wasn’t going to be dissuaded from the subject, was she? (And maybe, just a little bit, he wanted _someone—_ someone _outside_ the family— to know). “— it’s, um— Rikuo.” The world didn’t end, Keikain— _Yura—_ didn’t flinch away or sneer, the night remained cool and quiet and comforting and almost like— like everything was okay. Rikuo straightened his shoulders and repeated himself a bit more firmly. “My name is Rikuo.”

And she _smiled_. “It’s nice to meet you, then, Rikuo. So, my earlier question— why aren’t you out to the others? You already wear the boy’s uniform and everything—”

“Oh, _that_? I just borrow it from Jirō in exchange for helping him with homework—”

“—so it really wouldn’t be that much of a change, would it?” Yura continued, undeterred. “I mean, if nobody has a problem with you crossdressing all the time, I don’t see why you should be afraid of coming out to them the rest of the way. I mean, I doubt they’re _worse_ than the clan elders.”

Unbidden, Rikuo thought of the Council and their whispers, murmurs of _‘she’_ and _‘her’_ and _‘probably faking’_ and _‘might not make it through another year’_ always just loud enough that he knew they were meant to be overheard. But Yura wasn’t talking about _them—_ she was talking about the rest of the town. “It’s— it’s a different issue, I think. If— um, if your brother came out when he was young, I imagine lots of people who know him now don’t even know he’s trans, right?” She nodded in confirmation, frowning ever so slightly. “But for me, it’s— These people have known me as a girl for _years_ now. And it’s not just like a few people in my class— almost everyone at school knows me, there’s the teachers and everyone in the neighborhood. If they take it badly, I’d—“

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? His voice cracked slightly. “—I’m not sure _what_ I’d do, but if I came out and they didn’t accept it, I’d be isolated. And we couldn’t just move somewhere else— there’s just a lot of stuff that would make that not work. And I—” Rikuo breathed in, trying to steady himself and staring at his lap instead of meeting Yura’s eyes. “—I don’t want to end up as another statistic.”

“Statistic?”

“Trans suicide rates.” He amended, memories pulling back from his conversation with Zen just a week ago (it felt, somehow, as though a much greater amount of time had passed since then). “I have some support here, with Mom and Zen and Shirō and Tsurara, but— if things got bad, I don’t know if that would be _enough_. And that scares me.”

This was something Rikuo hadn’t actually admitted out loud to anyone else, and he said it as quietly as possible (because if someone heard who could tell the Council, he’d lose any chance of becoming the Third Head that he might have had, and they might just decide to off him themselves). Yura’s hand crept into his field of vision, small fingers wrapping carefully around his. “… And that’s why you don’t want to tell them? Because you’re afraid they’ll turn on you, and then you’ll try to kill yourself?”

“It’s already enough of a struggle — I just don’t want to risk making things worse, for them _or_ me.”

For a few moments, Yura didn’t respond, and they sat together in the darkness listening to the idle chirping of a few steadfast crickets. Part of Rikuo’s mind felt like it was fuzzing in and out of existence, unable to decide whether it was relieved or panicking or simply— simply _not there_. The rest of him was focused on the sensations around him— the cool wind against his cheek, the hem of his yukata brushing his ankles, the small fingers wrapped around his own. He couldn’t let himself think about anything else. If he thought about anything else, he might— might _what_ , he didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be good. It would be _weak_.

(He couldn’t afford that).

Presently, Yura sighed and pulled her hand back, standing and brushing out her skirt in a practiced manner. “I don’t agree with your worries, but I understand, and I won’t tell anyone else.” She paused, long enough that Rikuo forced his head up to meet her steely eyes, before her expression softened slightly and she offered him a hand up. “But if you ever need to talk— well, you can trust me, okay?”

Ah, the bitter irony — a girl who had sworn to kill his grandfather and his clan, telling him sincerely that he could trust her. (And yet, _somehow_ , Rikuo almost felt like he could believe her). He took her hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet. “Thank you, Kei— Yura. Thank you.”

That small, almost secret smile reappeared, not enough to make her cheeks dimple but enough that her eyes crinkled ever so slightly. “Of course, Rikuo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked her back around to the front gate, where they could just make out Kana waiting patiently by the lamp-post at the end of the block. Once they’d said their goodnights, he stood and watched them walk down the street together, Kana immediately leaning in to resume a conversation about something-or-other. It wasn’t until they were completely out of sight that Rikuo allowed himself to walk back inside, mind still foggy and floating through shades of washed-out grey. He toed out of his sandals in a daze, walked up the stairs that seemed to stretch upwards for years, and it was only once he’d stepped into Zen’s room and slid the door shut that he allowed himself to let go of the Fear he’d been holding onto all afternoon.

Immediately, the energy drain kicked in and he stumbled slightly, bracing himself against the wall as he waited for the dizziness to fade away. It was a downside to using his Fear (especially in large quantities) while in his human form, but the risks in this case had far outweighed the consequences.

“You alright, Rikuo?”

Still waiting for his vision to clear (the effect was somewhat similar to when he stood up too quickly, and his head would swim and his eyes would go dark and fuzzy for a few moments), Rikuo waved away Zen’s question. “Just tired— took a lot more than I thought it would. Why aren’t you asleep?”

The bird yōkai shrugged, propping himself up on one elbow in order to rearrange the blankets over the extra futon they hadn’t yet moved back out of his room. “Kept coughing, ‘least for a while. And I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” He raised an eyebrow as Rikuo made his way slowly over to the bed, barely going through the motions of taking off his haori and outer layer before curling up on the mattress, and carefully tucked the blankets over his shoulders. “As I was damn well right to, by the look of it. Did dinner go well, at least?”

“Yeah. I think Mom liked the company.”

Zen hummed thoughtfully, laying back against his own pillow and turning his head sideways to look at his friend. “What about you, huh?”

“I—“ What about him? Rikuo’s mind was still buzzing from his conversation with Yura, and even dinner felt far-off now despite having been less than an hour ago. “—it was fine, I guess. Now go to sleep.”

“What?”

Blinking a few times before giving in and letting his eyes fall closed, Rikuo shrugged and reached one hand out just far enough to curl his fingers around the fabric of either Zen’s sleeve or his blanket (it didn’t _really_ matter which). “You said you stayed up because you wanted to make sure I was okay. I am, so you should sleep now, or I’ll be worried.”

For a few moments, there wasn’t a reaction, and Rikuo was just starting to wonder if his friend had fallen asleep when Zen laughed quietly. “Man, you really _are_ tired, huh?” Something shifted, and then a bony, slightly-too-warm hand was resting carefully against Rikuo’s. “Alright, I’ll sleep, but you’d better rest too.”

“Mhmm.”

The room fell quiet, apart from the distant chirping of crickets and the sounds of renewed activity from the house below. Slowly, like the rising and falling of the tides, the buzz and fog of Rikuo’s mind faded away until he felt he could finally breathe properly again. It had been a long evening, with a lot of challenges and revelations, but he’d kept his biggest secret and his clan safe (and that was what mattered the most). The onmyōji— no, he had to call her Yura, she’d promised to stay quiet about what she knew, so that was the _least_ he could do— had figured out the one secret he hadn’t expected her to, but maybe… maybe that would be okay. Her brother was— was _like him_ , and she didn’t seem to have any issue with _him_. And she’d said she wouldn’t tell anyone, so Rikuo allowed himself to hope that this secret, too, would remain safe— just shared with one person more.

He’d _succeeded_. Things were okay. The evening was over, he’d survived, and now he could wear his own clothes and use his own name and _rest_. “Hey, Zen?”

“Yeah?”

Rikuo uncurled his fingers half-consciously from the blanket, shifting until he could hold onto his friend’s hand. “Thanks for accepting me for being like this. You, and Mom, and everyone— I’m just really glad that you’re not—“

“ _Hey_ ,” Thin, brittle fingers wrapped around his own, firm and steady despite their frailty (much like Zen himself, in so many ways), “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, _really—_ “

“Seriously, it’s fucking fine.” Perhaps it was just the late hour, and their shared exhaustion, but even Zen’s swearing carried precisely none of its usual bite. Instead, it was almost soft— _fond_ , perhaps, would be the word to use. It was a familiar sound, and Rikuo allowed himself to sink into the feeling of safety as though it was a lake full of clouds. As he drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep, he distantly heard Zen add, “Dunno about Lady Wakana or anyone else, but _I_ think you’re pretty damn good like this. Wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

Rikuo wasn’t sure if he responded aloud, or simply imagined it, but either way he heard himself murmur a quiet, “Thanks,” before sleep finally came and everything faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! So I pretty much just busted this out in like 3 days or so? But I'm so pleased with it!
> 
> Some things are developing faster than I originally anticipated, but I think I like how this chapter turned out. 
> 
> (Also, we officially have our second officially-AU-queer character! Even though he won't appear for like 20 chapters at least lol. I know these developments might seem kinda random? But I promise, I'm doing this with a purpose, and part of this chapter's purpose is to create the foundations of an even more complex/layered dynamic between Rikuo and Yura, because I really want to play with relationships in this fic). (Also, oops, i think my ship bias is showing. I promise, there aren't any pairings decided yet! Except for the one that won't appear for a while lol).
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you can, I'll be eternally grateful! <3


	8. vermin hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Somehow, it seemed as though the entire universe was conspiring to keep him awake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This is the Kyūso chapter, and does contain the canon implied-attempted sexual assault/threats. Nothing is graphic, and nothing *actually* happens, but I know that can be kinda not pleasant (one of my readers commented on it) so I'm putting up a note here and forewarning you all.**
> 
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> 
> **(If there are any sections specifically that folks want me to give useful skips for, just let me know in the comments)**

Unfortunately, the whole _sleep-coming-everything-fading-away-to-peace_ schtick only lasted about half an hour before Rikuo was shaken abruptly back to wakefulness, head protesting mightily and eyes almost refusing to stay open despite the urgent hand on his shoulder. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on what slowly became recognizable as Kurotabō’s face as the monk paused his careful shaking of Rikuo’s shoulder (and upper arm). “Master Rikuo! I’m terribly sorry to wake you, but there’s a matter you must attend to.”

“Wha— Kuro? What time is it?”

“I’m not sure. Ao and I just returned from working on Lord Zen’s house — progress is slow, but I think we’ve at least gotten all of the destruction cleared, and I believe we may be able to begin rebuilding within the week.” The black-robed monk informed Rikuo in a low voice, helping him to his feet and handing the discarded yukata and haori back to him efficiently. “I’ll leave it to you to deliver the news, as Kubinashi warned us not to wake him.”

And indeed, when Rikuo took a moment to glance sluggishly down at the futons, Zen was fast asleep and breathing slightly (but audibly) better than he had been earlier that evening. _That_ , at least, was good. “I’m glad to hear that. So what’s this matter?”

“Well,” Kurotabō paused to think over his words, ushering Rikuo quietly from the room and descending the stairs just a step ahead of him, “He wouldn’t say anything but that he had to speak with you in person, but a representative of the Kyūso clan is here to see you.”

“So late? No, don’t answer that,” Rikuo groaned (both at the sly grin on his attendant’s face, and the dull pounding of his head that told him for certain that he hadn’t slept long enough), pressing his face into his hands, “let me guess — _‘we are creatures of the night, Master Rikuo, so it’s only natural to do business at such a time’_. Am I right?”

“Uncannily so.”

Rolling his eyes, Rikuo attempted to elbow Kurotabō in the side. “I’ve grown up listening to you all talking like that, after all. Still, he’s not telling you anything? Seems kind of odd— hm, which clan is Kyūso, again?”

“Rat-based yōkai? Or they could be weasels, I can’t quite recall. I’m not sure we’ve had much to do with them, to be quite honest.”

“Huh.” They reached the porch, where the very small (and indeed, very rat-like) Kyūso clan representative was waiting, watched by a wary Aotabō and unusually energetic Tsurara. Stifling a yawn, Rikuo knelt down at the edge of the wooden floor, blinking a few more times until his eyes finally focused properly on his guest. “Hello, representative of the Kyūso clan. I apologize for my state — I was sleeping.” Or _attempting_ to, he added ruefully in his head. “What is the matter you wish to speak of?”

The small creature inclined his head slightly. “Hello, Young Mistress! I am a retainer of the Kyūso clan, indeed, and I come to you with news of an occurrence I think you will want to hear of.”

So the Kyūso clan was one of _those_ , huh? The suspicious prickling at the back of Rikuo’s neck increased. “ _Yes?_ And what is it?”

“We have our territory on First Street, and while I was on patrol through the area, I saw the most awful thing! Two young girls, _snatched_ right off of the streets by one of the hosts!” The retainer gestured expansively with his paws, though his beady eyes remained uncomfortably unreadable. “Now, of course, such things happen often, and I would have gladly let them be— but I believe they might be acquaintances of yours? That girl who so often is in your company, with the light hair— ah, yes, and the onmyōji girl with the braid!”

Something in the pit of Rikuo’s stomach turned to ice. “You mean— you mean Kana and Yura? Were— were _what_ , were kidnapped?”

“Indeed. Members of our clan are at the scene, so if you can come—”

His limbs felt like they were frozen, but Rikuo’s thoughts raced faster than he’d even thought they could with the amount of rest he was running on (which was to say, _none_ ). Kana and Yura had been taken. Kana had been walking Yura home, so it was possible that _Yura_ had been the main target. Or could it also be a trap for _him_? It was unusual, after all, that they would target an onmyōji like that — but not if one considered that she was his classmate and, _possibly_ , friend. Regardless, they were in danger, and even without his Fear or his yōkai form available, he was probably their best chance of help. Without the Fear of Nurarihyon to protect them, no sane yōkai would try to rescue an onmyōji, and Rikuo wouldn’t make them. He had to go alone.

He _had_ to go alone.

_(He was so tired)._

“Alright, lead me there.”

From near the doorway, Tsurara jolted, hurrying to grab his shoulder. “Master Rikuo, you can’t! You’re human, and without rest—“

“Tsurara, I have to!” He tugged out of her grip as gently as he could, reaching absently for something to tie his hair back with and failing to find anything. Well, looking like a girl would be how he did this, then. If anything, it might help whoever attacked Yura and Kana underestimate him. “Look, I’m not going to make you go anywhere _near_ Yura when I can’t _protect_ you, okay? But they’re— Kana and Yura are my _friends_ , I have to do _something_.”

He tugged on his sneakers (no time to bother with socks), grabbed Kurotabō’s staff from the monk’s surprised hands (the closest weapon available, since his sword was upstairs and he didn’t have a bowl or sake on hand and _anything_ was better than going in unarmed), and ran out into the night with the rat-like Kyūso retainer hard on his heels.

Yura and Kana were in danger. They were in danger— should he have walked them home? Had someone tail them back? But no, Yura would have been able to detect anyone else, he should have walked them home himself. He’d been selfish, selfish and _tired_ , and now they were both in danger _because of him—_

The First Street district was relatively nearby, and at a hard run it didn’t take Rikuo long to arrive in the middle of it. He found himself surrounded by bright lights and flashing signs and energetic, tipsy young adults crowded into the streets. A few of them turned to stare at him, at his long hair and yukata and incongruous shoes and staff, but a few choice gestures and curses (courtesy of growing up with Zen’s foul mouth) were the only attention he gave them as he slowed to a trot in his search for the place his friends had last been seen. The Kyūso retainer, distressingly unwinded (which Rikuo _normally_ would be, but the lack of sleep was not helping his case), hung back a few steps as they looked.

Finally, he reached the club the retainer had described, noting bitterly that it was very clearly an ‘adult’ club. His last thoughts, before something smacked into the back of his head and consciousness finally abandoned him once more, were that if this _wasn’t_ a trap he would be very disappointed.

 

* * *

 

This time, instead of a gentle hand on his shoulder, Rikuo was forced back into bitter wakefulness by a sharp kick to his stomach, followed by another. He started to push himself to his knees shakily, but that made his abdomen twinge sharply in pain and his gut churn, and he had to duck his head to the side as dinner decided to make an unpleasant reemergence. From above him, he could hear raucous laughter. As he coughed, trying to clear the acrid taste of bile from his throat, he glanced up at the room around him. Posh decor and bright lights were his first impression, and in the few moments it took him to finally stop coughing he realized he was probably inside of the club he’d seen.

_Trap it was, then._

“Yo, you’re finally awake, huh?” A snide, nasally voice spoke from somewhere above and in front of Rikuo. He looked up to see what looked like a tall young man, with fair hair and long lashes, sitting in front of him on an obnoxiously fancy chair. The yōkai’s smirk — for that’s what he had to be, to have set this trap and brought Rikuo here like this — widened as his eyes flickered dismissively over Rikuo’s form, and when his eyes fell to the neck of RIkuo’s yukata he chuckled in a way that sounded nowhere near benevolent. “Little Miss Third.”

Too tired to really be as furious as he wished he could feel, Rikuo pulled his yukata closed from where it had fallen loose (at least, that’s what he _hoped_ had happened) while he was unconscious and narrowed his eyes at the man. “And you’re a yōkai under the Nura Syndicate. What are you trying to pull, like—“

One of the subordinates that Rikuo hadn’t managed to notice kicked him in the face, the hard sole of his shiny leather shoe colliding solidly with Rikuo’s cheekbone. If it didn’t break the bone, it would certainly be a nice bit of bruising for Zen to gripe over tomorrow— assuming tomorrow _arrived_ , of course. But Rikuo couldn’t afford to think like that — he was strong, he was the leader of his clan whether they accepted it or not, and he wasn’t going to be a statistic (he couldn’t do that to his mother, to his _family_ ).

“—look down on Master Kyūso like that!” The subordinate was snapping as Rikuo’s thoughts returned to the present moment, sharp teeth bared in a snarl as he gestured expansively towards the fair-haired yōkai. “Like hell anyone would serve under a little _bitch_ like you! To us, in this place, _Master Kyūso_ is the true Emperor of the Night!”

“Wh— ‘ _Emperor’_?” Wincing at the pain in his cheekbone, Rikuo pushed himself upright once more. “What happened to just ‘Lord’—“

The fair-haired yōkai, who had to be Kyūso himself, tilted his head so he could look down the bridge of his nose at Rikuo. “Listen carefully, brat. Right now, the world of yōkai is moving away from an old era, and into a new one. An era of many different ‘evil organizations’.” Rikuo opened his mouth to protest (pandemonium and mischief didn’t _have_ to be evil, as he’d been _saying—_ ), but was cut off. “We desire to expand and develop our evildoing further than ever before, so there’s no way we’ll let ourselves continue to be lead by a little human-loving bitch like you.”

As he was speaking, Kyūso gestured for his subordinates, and they pulled back one of the (excessive) curtains behind his chair to reveal—

“Kana! Yura!” The girls were both unconscious, with ropes tied around their legs and arms, and Rikuo could see the edges of torn fabric poking up from the chest of Yura’s school uniform. Panic flooded his thoughts, and only the pain still jolting in his stomach stopped him from lunging forward. “You rat-faced bastard, _what did you—_ “

Still in the throes of his self-important monologue, Kyūso cut him off once again. “Don’t worry, this is all for the sake of the clan. With someone like you leading them, those yōkai won’t survive in this new era. Therefore, we will be taking command of the Nura Syndicate from hereon out.” The rat yōkai’s smirk shifted into a sinister grin. “If you want these girls back, then withdraw your claim to the position of Third. Got it, little miss?”

“Wha—“ They were after that, fine. If he could just eradicate them now, this would be simpler — but if he managed to stall a day or two, regain his strength and rally his clan, perhaps he could still hold onto the position he was trying to attain. “— alright, _fine_ , I don’t care! Just _let my friends go—_ “

Kyūso’s expression twisted bitterly, and his foot (another fancy, hard-soled leather shoe) landed on Rikuo’s forehead. The yōkai was yelling something at him in indignant fury, but the only thing Rikuo could focus on was the shoe hitting him _again_ and _again_ — his face, his shoulders, his arms, his back. Each impact was a dull hum of pain, slowly joining together to form what felt like a second skin made entirely out of agony. He was too tired, and it took all his energy just to keep from collapsing onto the floor — if he made himself any more vulnerable, who knew what sort of invitation they would take it for?

Finally, the abuse abated, and Rikuo managed to lift his eyes up to look at Kyūso as the rat yōkai stared contemptuously down at him. “Well then, if you _truly_ don’t care, I want you to send a decree to all the yōkai commanders in this country, tonight! You’ll tell them you rescind your claim on the position of ‘Third’— oh, and how about you give up on this ridiculous claim of being a boy while you’re at it, hm? Let’s see, and if you _don’t—_ “

He leaned in until his nose was inches away from Rikuo’s, so close he could almost count his eyelashes,

“ _— then these girls will be killed at dawn._ ”

For a few moments, Kyūso stared into Rikuo’s eyes, gaze flickering with every panicked breath Rikuo took and pupils beginning to dilate in excitement. “Hm, but we do have such a long time until then. Why don’t we take some time to celebrate, little girl?” His fingers reached for Rikuo’s hair, taunting. “Perhaps your friends will even want to join in, hm?”

No. _No, no, no_. Rikuo had to get out of here. This was edging towards worse and worse areas (and if the threat of his friends _being killed in barely a few hours_ wasn’t the ‘worst’ it could get, that didn’t bode well at all), and he had to get home and gather his clan and do— do _something_ , at least. Kana and Yura were humans, but they were still his friends. He couldn’t just let them die, no matter what.

Adrenaline abruptly flooding into his system, he shoved Kyūso away from him with all the force he could muster, using the impact to push himself up and to his feet. Kurotabō’s staff had been discarded on the floor nearby — apparently, the underlings had been too stupid to get rid of it properly, or perhaps they’d assumed he wouldn’t think to find it — and Rikuo snatched it up as he ran for the door. Dimly, he registered that none of the rats were trying to chase him. They probably figured this was a win for them, anyways — the supposed Third Heir, running away with bare feet and bruises on his face.

The door opened up onto a hallway, a dim flight of stairs on one end making it clear that this was on an upper floor. Not particularly interested in trying to brave the throngs that were surely crowding the downstairs levels, Rikuo switched course for the nearest window and shoved it open, taking the barest amount of time to calculate his jump before leaping out and onto the best-looking landing pad (which turned out to be a pile of trash bags resting next to a dumpster — so much for _lights and finery_ ). The impact jarred his knees, and made the barely-healed burns on his feet sting in mild protest, but in moments he was up and running again.

He didn’t have any time to lose. He had to get back to the main house, he had to rally his clan, he had to plan— to plan something, to plan _anything_. Rikuo wasn’t going to give up his family, not after everything, but he couldn’t let his friends die.

_He couldn’t._

“Wha— Master Rikuo? Ma— _oh my god, Master Rikuo, what happened?_ ”

Suddenly, there were cold hands pressing against the aching spots on his face, and sturdy arms keeping him upright. Dimly, Rikuo realized he’d stumbled and nearly face-planted in— oh, this was the main house already? With the manic energy slowly draining from his system, his limbs slowly refused to function fully. The arms holding him up lifted him into the air, and it wasn’t until he noticed dark hair and the shadow of a wide hat that he realized it was Kurotabō who’d caught him— and, of course, the cold hands had to belong to Tsurara.

There was a thrum of anxious noise as the two of them brought him inside the house, many voices speaking over one another until they reached the point where Rikuo wanted to yell at them to just _shut up_ , but he simply didn’t have the energy left to.

Tsurara’s cold hands were joined by another, warmer pair, these ones with distinctive callouses and scars that Rikuo would have recognized anywhere even if the voice accompanying them hadn’t rung bells. “Young Master– _Rikuo_ , you have to tell us what happened. Who _did_ this to you?”

“Ku—Kubinashi?”

“Yes, it’s me. Rikuo, what happened? Whoever did this, _I’ll—_ ” The hands tightened on his sleeve, and it took far more effort than usual for Rikuo to reach over and cover one of them with one of his own, blinking up at the second of his primary guards.

For a few moments, he took time to collect himself and gather his words, pushing away from Kurotabō’s careful grasp and forcing himself to sit up properly. Immediately, Kubinashi and Tsurara shifted to flank him, clearly positioning themselves so they would be able to catch him if he fell over again. Finally, Rikuo sighed and inhaled deeply. “The Kyūso clan has decided that they intend to take control of the Nura Syndicate.”

The murmurs and chatter immediately fell quiet, until Rikuo could hear the faint rustling of leaves outside. “They lured me to what I suspect is their main residence, an ‘adult’ club on First Street. They have two of my human friends, Ienaga Kana and Keikain Yura, hostage, and have sworn to kill them at dawn if I don’t rescind my claim to the position of Third — for life.”

(No point mentioning the second demand. Rikuo refused to let anyone — _least of all_ those traitorous rats — use who he was against him. His gender was a _fact_ , not a claim. _He was not a statistic._ )

At once, the noise burst into being once more, and Rikuo waited a few moments before deciding they were wasting time (time they should be using to _do_ something, _to help Kana and Yura_ ) and slamming his hands against the floor with a loud slap. Once he was assured he had his clan’s full attention once more, he cleared his throat (ignoring the dizziness making his eyesight begin to fuzz in and out) and continued. “I understand that to most of you, the lives of two humans are inconsequential. If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t ask you to go _near_ an onmyōji without my Fear to protect you. However, beyond the fact that they are my _friends_ and I want to save them just for that— think, perhaps, about the fact that they were last officially seen at the main house? And that if they die, we will be under suspicion — not only from regular human investigators, but from Keikain Yura’s _onmyōji_ family?”

And wouldn’t that be even _worse_. If Yura died in Ukiyoe, and her family thought the Nura Syndicate was to blame? Rikuo and Nurarihyon wouldn’t be able to conceal them forever, and the Keikain clan would surely want revenge for the death of their daughter.

He knew his grandfather was nearby, listening. Perhaps it was their shared fear, but Rikuo always had a feeling when Nurarihyon was around — at least, when the latter wasn’t actively hiding himself. His grandfather was around, but he was silent. Listening, not speaking. Not telling Rikuo to stop, but never raising a finger or his voice to help either (not when he made his claim as the Third, nor when he repeated told the council that his name _wasn’t Rika any longer_ ). Simply watching.

Rikuo wished bitterly that if his grandfather wasn’t going to _do_ anything, then he should at least have the courtesy to _leave_ (since he clearly didn’t care enough to speak up).

“Look, I know I’m not ideal, and none of you are big fans of humans or onmyōji at all, but—“ His voice cracked traitorously, “—but _please_ , we have to do something! I can’t just let this go, both as Nura Rikuo of the Nura Syndicate and as their friend! So please, I need you to help me with this.” Clenching his hands into fists, Rikuo bowed his head until the only thing he could see was a blurry version of the floor. “I know I’m not your leader, but for the sake of the Nura Syndicate — for the sake of our _family_ — we have to take action. We can’t let this insubordination stand.”

The silence filling the room seemed suffocating, as though this day (night) wanted him to be asleep as much as he wished he were asleep. What felt like tears — whether of exhaustion or desperation, it wasn’t clear — pricked at the corners of Rikuo’s eyes. He leaned forward, bowing to press his forehead against the floor. “Please, will you follow me?”

There was no response.

Rikuo restrained the urge to let himself sob in frustration, tension the only thing keeping him from collapsing fully onto the floor as disdainful mutters began to percolate through the air. What else should he have expected, really? Of _course_ no-one was going to follow him like this — he looked pathetic, human and groveling and stained black-and-blue by a trap _he should have been able to avoid easily_. And to rescue an onmyōji? They were yōkai, not humans — they wouldn’t care. Most of the Nura Syndicate probably would rather all onmyōji die out, and if they didn’t have to lift a finger to do it? _All the better._ To them, Yura was just a threat, and he couldn’t blame them for it, _but—_

But Yura was just a kid. Kana was just a kid, and a regular garden-variety human to boot. And they were his friends. To just callously let them die because of outdated prejudices and stale precautions—

 _I tw a s_ **_u n a c c e p t a b l e._ **

.

.

In what felt like an instant, a single moment of clarity snapping into place, every emotion that had been pressing down on Rikuo’s thoughts and shoulders was swept away by a tidal wave of pure fury. It hit him with the force of a bolt of lightning, sending sparks from his spinal chord to the nerves at the tips of his fingers, and it felt as though his body was both humming with energy and as still as stone.

What had he been _thinking_?

After a day of buzzing thoughts and jittery caution, his mind was as calm as the surface of a still pond. All the fuss, the desperation — it seemed so silly.

Why had Rikuo even bothered asking? These were yōkai, they only tolerated humans because of his blood, and even that tolerance was tenuous. There was no point hoping they would want to help what to them amounted to little more than a nuisance and little less than prey. _(Because that’s what yōkai did, wasn’t it? They prey on humans and prey on each other, they hardly care for friendship if it doesn’t benefit, and they wouldn’t follow anyone for anything but stupid strength.)_

_(What an embarrassment.)_

He stood, barely letting his attention note the way the yōkai around him scrambled away from his path as he walked calmly towards the stairs. If he remembered correctly, his sword should still be upstairs in his room. Wakana always made sure to have a bowl and sake stored in the bathroom cupboard as well. The Kyūso clan hadn’t seemed all that strong, from a yōkai’s standpoint — if he armed himself, he could probably take them all on his own (no need for followers who didn’t care). Walking into a trap with someone else’s tool was obviously a recipe for disaster; but prepared for a fight, with his own weapons in hand?

Rikuo wasn’t going to let a _single goddamn rat_ live to see the sun.

As he emerged from the bathroom, tucking both sake and bowl inside the fold of his yukata, a quiet cough echoed down the hall. Nerves firing at seemingly ten times their usual speed and the shortest of his hairs standing on end, he pivoted sharply on his heels to find the source of the noise.

“Oh, Zen.” Forcing himself to breathe, Rikuo padded across the floor to where the older yōkai stood. He paused, taking in his friend’s crossed arms and skeptical expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Please, keep resting.”

Zen’s eyes narrowed, and he snorted. “Coughing woke me up, don’t flatter yourself. Were you going to go and fight someone _without_ me, Rikuo?”

Of course, the _one_ person immediately willing to follow him, and it was the person he couldn’t allow to come. “You need your rest, Zen. You can go be mad at me tomorrow, but I _can’t—_ ” Confronted by something that wasn’t adding fuel to his fire, the sharp clarity of fury cracked and Rikuo felt a thin trickle of desperate frustration seep through. It twisted around his heart and constricted, pulling his throat tight and forcing the words that followed to a level barely above a whisper. “I can’t do it right now. I’m sorry, I’m— you can yell at me all you want later, but Yura and Kana are going to _die_ if I don’t do something soon, so I need to—“

“Woah, woah, wait a minute.” Too-warm hands clasped his shoulders, and Rikuo opened his eyes ( _when had he closed them?_ ) to meet Zen’s. Somehow, it felt as though he wasn’t looking up as far as usual. “Yura and Kana— those girls that were with you? Your friend and the onmyōji? What happened to them?”

The stream of fear abandoned his heart to coil, heavy and hard, in the pit of his stomach. “They were— the, um. The Kyūso clan, apparently they’re one of our subordinate groups, they’ve got the First Street territory—“

“No, they don’t!”

A new voice cut through the conversation, high-pitched and raspy. Rikuo jolted, startled by the interruption, and pushed himself between Zen and the noise before noticing the yōkai standing at the top of the stairs. He wasn’t someone Rikuo recognized, wearing the appearance of a short young man in traditional clothes with a bandana wrapped around his head and what looked like furry ears — cat ears, perhaps — poking up through his messy hair. Behind him, Rikuo could see Tsurara and Kurotabō, and more familiar faces filled the stairwell as the strange yōkai crossed the hallway to kneel in front of him.

“Um, I—” It seemed like everything was determined to get in his way this evening. Rikuo swallowed and attempted to compose himself, restrain from lashing out at all these interruptions (he was _running out of time—_ ). “I apologize for my ignorance, but who are you?”

The kneeling yōkai sat back to meet Rikuo’s gaze, a dark patch of skin around his left eye standing out against his otherwise pale complexion. “I am Ryōta-Neko, the head of the Bakeneko clan. Since before we joined the Nura Syndicate, what is now known as First Street and the area surrounding it have been our territory— we run gambling dens, and make our mischief in that manner. But we’ve always had a code, of course— and now, those _rats_ have taken over what is rightfully ours.” His ears twitched, and he glanced away shamefully. “We didn’t dare fight them, not with— well, Kyūso is known for _hunting kittens_ , and we didn’t dare risk our children. But if you’re going—“

He bowed low, forehead resting against the floor in front of Rikuo’s feet. “Please let my clan and I assist you, Young Master!”

It took Rikuo a few moments to breathe. To _process_. To pull himself down from the high of anger and realize what was before him. “Why have you only asked for my help now?” The yōkai — Ryōta-Neko — looked up in confusion and then leaned back nervously as Rikuo knelt down to match his eye level. “If this isn’t a recent development, why did you not ask the Main House for assistance? We are only ever as strong as those under our protection — we would have helped.”

“We did not want to ask the Main House to fight our battles for us.” Ryōta-Neko squared his shoulders and met Rikuo’s eyes firmly. “Though we are not the most powerful of your subordinate clans, we are proud of our Fear. I hope you can understand that, Young Master.”

He _didn’t_ , but at this point — what did it matter? It wasn’t going to change anything. Instead, Rikuo stood and turned his gaze to his close subordinates, gathered in the stairwell and hallway. A small crowd of less familiar yōkai were visible behind them. “And what about all of you? Why are _you_ here? You made it clear enough downstairs that none of you were willing to follow me in aid of a human and an onmyōji, _not a one_. What’s changed?” He gestured to his chest — flat and leanly muscled, an eerie familiarity that felt so natural he hadn’t noticed it until he looked in the bathroom mirror — with a sharp, jerky movement. “If you’re only following me because I’m— because I’m like _this_ now? Then don’t _bother_. I have no use for a Hyakki Yakkō whose loyalty is conditional on something as arbitrary as my outward appearance.”

“We know.” Kubinashi stepped to the front of the gathered group, head following his shoulders until he stood just beside the still-kneeling Ryōta-Neko. When he met Rikuo’s eyes, there was a silent apology hiding in his expression as he spoke. “And we weren’t— hm. Our silence wasn’t due to your form, or Keikain Yura being one of the humans in danger. For me — and, I think, it’s also true of many of us — I hesitated because I was _concerned_.” Rikuo’s surprise must have shown on his face ( _concern, really?_ ), because Kubinashi stepped closer to rest a hand on his shoulder carefully. “You’ve had a very long day, Master Rikuo, and very little rest. This form, to me, is an assurance that letting you go fight will not end with you damaging yourself beyond repair.”

He glanced down at the ground, expression tight, and when he looked up again the blue of his eyes seemed to stand out sharply against the golden-blond of his hair and the brown wood of the hallway. “I understand how much your human friends mean to you, but if saving _them_ meant the risk of losing _you_? I am not sorry to say I would chose you, Rikuo, over a hundred others — human _or_ yōkai.”

_Oh._

The fear (not _Fear_ , though) coiling in Rikuo’s stomach shivered and seemed to dissolve, something entirely different causing his heart to clench painfully, the feeling sharp and desperately ( _foolishly_ ) happy. “I—” He had to swallow, throat tight and thick, before he could continue. “— I don’t agree, but I understand. _I—_ thank you, Kubinashi.” The neckless yōkai smiled ever-so-slightly, stepping back to rejoin the gathered group as Rikuo lifted his eyes to each of them in turn. “And thank you, _all_ of you. I’m sorry I doubted you. I was— though it is not very becoming of a yōkai, I was afraid. I will not apologize for that, but I hope you will understand my fear just as I understand your hesitation. Will you— will you follow me now, even still?”

Tsurara slipped to the front of the group, eyes bright. “Do you even need to ask, Young Master? We are _your Hyakki Yakkō_ , we’re here to follow you no matter what!”

What definitely weren’t tears pricked dangerously at the corners of Rikuo’s eyes as he nodded firmly, steeling his shoulders and gesturing for Ryōta-Neko to stand and rejoin the group. “Then let’s not waste any more time. I just need to find my sword, and—“

“You mean this thing?”

Something was pushed into his grasp, and when Rikuo glanced down it was to the sight of a familiar wooden sheathe held by a familiar pale hand. Beside him, Zen was grinning. “You left it here a few nights ago. Since we were doing that whole _share-the-room_ business, I guess no-one bothered to move it back.”

“Huh.” Now that he thought about it, that did sound familiar. Rikuo ignored the sound of someone — probably Tsurara — giggling behind him, and tucked the sword firmly into his obi. “Thanks, Zen. This doesn’t mean I’m letting you come with us, though.”

The bird yōkai rolled his eyes and yawned. “Wasn’t gonna ask. Even with a 50-50, you’re still my leader as far as I’m concerned. You want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He coughed weakly a few times, scowling at nothing in particular. “Wanted to get some more sleep, anyways. You go kill some rats for me, yeah? Or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

Against his will, Rikuo laughed. “Right, as if you could!” Breathing deeply — _in, out, in, out_ — and relaxing the tension in his shoulders, he met Zen’s eyes and managed a small smile. “Go sleep, asshole. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Turning to face the gathered yōkai, Rikuo strode down the hall and descended the stairs, watching the crowd — _his Hyakki Yakkō, small though it yet might be_ — part on either side. At the gates of the main house he paused, turning to meet the eyes of each member of his Yakkō ( _his family_ ) individually. “This is not time for a parade. Nor time for a show of power. There are two children in danger, and we are going to do two things tonight. We are going to ensure their safety,” He grinned, the last of his fury fading out and tempered by a vicious anticipation that he saw reflected in those following him.

“And we are going to exterminate some vermin. Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

Had he thought the anger was gone?

Clearly, Rikuo had assumed too early, because the sight that greeted him when they entered Kyūso’s lair (silent as mist, soft as clouds, and lethal as Zen’s strongest poison) made his vision flash _red_. It wasn’t the rat on the throne — he could hardly care less about Kyūso’s delusions of grandeur, and all the lights and glam weren’t his style anyways — that made fury flood his veins like molten steel. Kyūso would be dead before the night was out, he wasn’t a concern. No, it was the sight of his friends _in a cage_. The sight of rats climbing inside, lecherous grins on their faces and clawed hands grasping. The sight of Yura, a gaping hole torn (as though grabbed and _pulled_ ) in the front of her blouse, one hand clutching the fabric as she still tried to place herself between Kana and the approaching yōkai. The fear painted visibly across their faces.

The sound of a voice, shrill and terrified, _screaming._

Yeah, screw making a speech, screw making an entrance. These scum had demeaned and demanded him, attacked him, and — worse still — attacked his friends. They had no place in the Nura Syndicate, or even among the living — Hell was a far better destination for such vermin, and Rikuo intended to send them there on an _express delivery._

One of the benefits of yōkai finger-sign, he reflected absently as he crossed the floor with his Yakkō at his back, was that he could tell Kubinashi to pull Kana and Yura out of danger with one hand while he lunged with his sword in the other to bisect the rat closest to the cage door. No point getting blood all over his friends, after all. In his peripheral vision, he saw Kubinashi draping his haori over Yura’s shoulders and gently tugging it into place to cover her ruined shirt. Darting into the cage to take out the other two (obnoxiously well-dressed) rat yōkai, Rikuo found himself grinning a bit savagely and paused, sword dripping onto the floor of the cage, to sign, _‘Wow, you have such a soft spot for girls, no wonder they’re spreading rumors about you and Tsurara at school.’_

_‘I will pay you literal money to never mention that again.’_

“No luck, sorry!” Rikuo crowed aloud, too amused to keep from cackling at the embarrassed flush tinting Kubinashi’s cheeks as he stood between the girls and the now-attacking rats (Kyūso must have told them to fight or something — that was nice of him, it made it easier for his Yakkō to kill them), lassoing one with his string and hurling it into the shredding grasp of Kejōrō’s hair. Aotabō and Kurotabō seemed to be competing (like _always_ , it seemed), each trying to kill more rats than the other.

Tsurara flash-froze one subordinate with her Yukigeshō technique, and turned to grin at Rikuo in pride. Despite being older than he and Zen, Tsurara was still a relatively _young_ yōkai — only perhaps two decades his elder — and she hadn’t had many opportunities to battle like this. The delight in her expression only contributed to the thrill that seemed to be boiling in his veins, and he barely resisted the urge to laugh aloud as he sheathed his sword and drew his sake, signing swiftly to his subordinates to move out of the way.

His Meikyō Shisui, the blaze taller and flickering with a vibrancy it lacked when he used it as a human, consumed Kyūso and the last of his lackeys in the middle of what was surely supposed to be an arrogant monologue, but Rikuo could hardly care less. A part of him knew, internally, that he was all but running on fumes — his Fear was little more than remnants, and he’d run out long before dawn forced him back into humanity and forgetfulness. There was no point in drawing things out any longer than they had to be.

Watching as the flames slowly consumed the remains of the rats, he allowed himself to breath deeply — _in, out, in, out_ — and crossed the room to where Kubinashi was coaxing Fear-guided threads in a careful dance to stitch up the holes in Yura’s uniform shirt and sweater. Signing a quick _‘come here’_ to Kurotabō, Rikuo arrived at their side and restrained his instinctive flinch when Yura glared up at him suspiciously. “Are you two alright? They didn’t _do_ anything to you, did they?”

“Are— _Are you really the Supreme Commander of the Night?”_

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised by Yura’s exclamation. Beside her, Kana watched nervously as he knelt down (how strange it was, to be so much taller than his friends) to glance between them as gently as possible. “Perhaps, one day. I’m… _sorry_ , that the two of you were dragged into this mess because of me.”

“T-thank you for helping us.” Kana, always so much braver than she gave herself credit for, managed a shaky smile. “They didn’t— um, they didn’t do anything like— like _that_ , if that’s what you were asking. You got here before— before they could, so thank you.” She shivered a bit, and Rikuo had to stop himself from reaching out to pat her shoulder.

The relief flooding through his mind was enough to make him dizzy (or maybe that was just the exhaustion). They were safe. They were alive, and whole, and safe. _He did it._

“Young Master?”

“Ah, Kurotabō.” Rikuo stood (well, forced himself to his feet), looking up to meet the monk’s eyes. “I know you had a long day, but I’d like to ask you to escort these girls home. I’m—“ _pretty much dead on my feet_ , but it would be a bit too much weakness to show, so he forced himself to restructure his thoughts, “—needed, back home, and I trust you the most to see that they are safe from harm.”

The black-garbed yōkai bowed shortly, indicating his agreement, and when he straightened again his expression was warm.

Rikuo turned to his friends, who were glancing between he and Kurotabō nervously, and tried to find the energy to smile. “This is Kurotabō. He’s a yōkai who protects children, and he’s going to make sure you both get home safe, alright? Miss Yura,” Yura glanced up, expression warring between suspicion and confusion, “can I trust that you won’t try to exorcise him? I understand that you’ve made it your goal, while in this town, but— well, it has been a long night for _all_ of us, I think. Can we perhaps make peace, just for now, so that I can ensure your safety?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please just _something—_

“… Alright. Just for tonight.” Her tone was resigned, but there was a hint of reluctant gratitude in Yura’s eyes when Rikuo met them. It remained there as she turned to glance at Kubinashi, who had finished his work on her clothes and made a quick job of mending Kana’s as well, the red string standing out starkly but the stitches tight and clean. “And thanks, _uh—_ ”

The headless yōkai started, caught off guard, and offered a wary nod. “Kubinashi, miss.”

“—yeah. Thanks for fixing my shirt.”

“Of course.”

Against his better judgement, Rikuo laughed tiredly and nudged Kubinashi with his shoulder. “Like I said — such a soft spot for girls.”

“But— um, but _hey!”_

Yura’s nervous yell had him turning around, and he forced himself not to reach for his weapons (they had a truce, and she’d said he could trust her and he _did_ ). She looked like she was steeling herself, and the next words echoed in the cavernous room despite the waver in her voice. “Just so you know, I-I came here to defeat you! So— so the next time we meet, _I definitely will!”_

Something about the declaration — the shaky defiance in her expression, the waver in her voice failing to quench the volume of her words — brought a smile to Rikuo’s face. (Somehow, she reminded him of himself — scared and young, but determined in spite of it — and for a snapshot moment he found himself _achingly_ proud). He nodded carefully in her direction. “I look forward to it, then. Get home safe — if you want to take a day off from school tomorrow, I can arrange something. Goodnight, Kana, Yura.”

One of them might have responded, but Rikuo didn’t hear it through the dizzy buzzing that filled his ears as he turned away a second time, intending to rejoin his Yakkō and travel home. Instead, he made it perhaps four steps before the world _tilted_ and _swirled_ around him, and only Kubinashi’s timely intervention saved him from violently reintroducing his face to the floor. Blinking away spots, he tried to push away and reorient himself, protesting, “No, I’m fine! Just— just give me a moment.”

“Master Rikuo, you are not fine!” Kubinashi’s voice was a sharp whisper, and Rikuo paused to wonder absently if he was supposed to be staying quiet as well before the neckless yōkai continued, softer than before. “You can barely walk straight. Ao can carry you back—“

“No!” Ouch, that was definitely too loud. Probably shouldn’t be yelling like that with Kana and Yura still nearby. “I’m not— I _can’t—_ I can’t look _weak_ like that, Kubinashi. They’ll all— if they see me needing to be _carried_ home, they’ll stop following me, and I’ll never— _no-one will—_ ”

Small, cool hands helped prop him up, one resting gently against his forehead, and he had to blink a few times before Tsurara’s pale face blurred into focus. “Oh, _Master Rikuo_. You’re burning up — and I thought Lord Zen was bad! Come on, let’s get you home before you turn back into a human! Kubinashi, you can carry him, can’t you?”

“What? Why _me_ , why not someone strong like Ao?”

“Because Ao’s already gone off to follow Kuro, like always!” She huffed, fists planted on her hips. “Those poor girls, they’ll probably have to listen to those two brag about who loves kids more all the way back!”

Rikuo found himself laughing at the picture it brought to mind — the idea of Kurotabō and Aotabō both trying to prove that they were the better child-protector with Kana and Yura stuck in the middle conjured the image of two schoolchildren bragging about how pampered their dolls were. He was so busy chuckling at the thought, he barely noticed when steady arms lifted him off the ground, soft fabric brushing against his cheek. Something touched his forehead briefly, and above him Kubinashi’s voice seemed to speak from somewhere a bit far-off and echo-y.

“He does have a temperature. Tsurara, go let the Main House know, so we can prepare something.”

Blearily, Rikuo protested, “ _Don’t—_ hey, don’t wake Zen up, okay? He’s gotta— he’s gotta _sleep_ , y’know.”

A cold hand patted his shoulder, the chill reaching through both his layers and sinking into his skin. “Don’t worry, Master Rikuo, we’ll let him rest. You worry about _you_ now— hey, Kubinashi, keep an eye on the humans tomorrow? I’m going to stay home with Master Rikuo.”

“Your grades are going to slip if you keep skipping.”

“I’ll be back once Master Rikuo is! Just tell them I got a cold, or something!”

“Sheesh, alright.” The soft tapping of Tsurara’s geta faded into the distance, and for a few minutes the only sensations were the cool night air, the whisper of the breeze, and the steady rhythm of Kubinashi’s cat-like steps. Rikuo tried to keep his eyes open, fully intending to protest once more, but everything around him was quiet and calming, and he was _so, so tired_. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to close his eyes, just for a bit, right?

Before the darkness behind his lids absorbed him, he almost thought he heard someone say, “I’m proud of you, Rikuo. You did well.”

It was _probably_ Kubinashi, but…

_(But for just a moment, caught on the edge of consciousness, Rikuo almost thought it sounded like his father.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoo! I think this might be the longest chapter in this fic yet, haha. around 7,700 words!
> 
> Next chapter's going to take a break from following Rikuo — I've decided to include periodic interludes focusing on other characters. So chapter 9 (technically 8, since ch 1 was actually the prologue) is going to take a look at Kana, Yura, and Tsurara! (which works, because Rikuo's going to spend a fair bit of the day following this chapter sleeping, and thus not actually giving me much to write about!)
> 
> For those of you following _his father's son_ — it's still in the works, don't worry. However, I need to take time to actually plot out where I want the story to go, so the next chapter is going to take a little while to happen. Please be patient!
> 
> As always, comments are hugely appreciated!! <3


	9. interlude: ienaga | keikain | oikawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Rikuo sleeps, others take time for their own thoughts.

_You did good, kid. You did so good._

 

* * *

Kana almost hadn’t gone to school today. After the dark-haired monk — the yōkai, Kurotabō (did all yōkai have such… _captain-obvious_ names?) had escorted her home and spoken with her parents in the form of an innocuous-looking businessman, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep for hours. Every time she closed her eyes, flickers of the night’s events would play through her mind like some sort of obnoxious, taunting slideshow.

She’d considered just staying home — pretending to have caught cold. Kana had never pretended to be sick in her life, so her parents likely wouldn’t have suspected — they both had work, anyhow, and she was old enough to be left alone for a day.

But she was very sure Yura was going to skip, and Rika had looked like she was a little under the weather that evening as well (something about the dark patches under her eyes, and a slight shiver in her shoulders that Kana figured she hadn’t been meant to see), so it was her job as a friend to make sure they didn’t miss anything! Sure, there was the rest of their hastily-formed club, but… well, _Jirō_ certainly couldn’t be trusted to collect homework assignments, Torii and Maki didn’t know where Yura and Rika lived, and Kana wouldn’t want to inflict Kiyotsugu on _anybody_ while they were sick. Of course, there was also Ayatori (who had been collecting Oikawa’s work while she was sick — perhaps something was going around), but he was an upperclassmen and wouldn’t actually be in Yura or Rika’s classes.

So she went.

It was difficult, making her way to school alone. Every now and then, she found herself glancing over her shoulder, checking warily for phantom noises and half-concealed leers. Kana hadn’t worn tights with her uniform since the day she bought it, but there had been a pair tucked in the back of one of her drawers, and she’d barely hesitated before pulling them on that morning. It _almost_ helped protect against the sensation of little claws scurrying up her legs.

“Ienaga?”

“Here!”

As first period wore on, she couldn’t help but keep glancing towards the empty seats that Yura and Rika _should_ have occupied. Kana wondered if they were alright — the night’s events had been worse for Yura than for her, she figured, so she hoped the smaller girl was resting for the day. Or maybe something else relaxing — a warm bath, or some nice music. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen the inside of Yura’s apartment — did she even _have_ a bath, or a CD player? (Maybe Kana should go over after school with some things — snacks, perhaps, and whatever else she could lend. They probably ought to take time to talk about what happened, after all).

And Rika— well, maybe Kana was just imagining things, but Rika had seemed so _worn out_ recently. They were childhood friends only in a fairly cursory sense — they’d gone to preschool together, lived in the same area, been occasional playmates when they were younger, and not much past that — but Kana liked to think she knew Rika quite well, probably better than the rest of their classmates. And that meant she was fairly certain that something, at least, had been bothering her friend.

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily new — Rika had always seemed to have eyes a bit too old and a bit too weary for her age, ever since they were very small. Still, it seemed like recently it had gotten worse, to where the shadows in her friends eyes were beginning to seep into her skin too.

“Yo, Kana! Where’s Rika and Keikain?”

Jirō’s voice jolted Kana out of her thoughts, and she realized with some surprise that lunch had started, and the other members of the Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol had gathered in the classroom. Torii and Maki were there, just as Yura and Rika were absent, and Ayatori walked in without Oikawa just like he had for the past week. He glanced at Jirō as he seated himself on top of Rika’s unused desk, signing absently to himself. “Ri—Rika’s come down with a fever — she’ll be fine, but Zen was pretty grouchy about it so he made her stay home.”

“Huh? You mean that big bro guy that was hanging out last night? What’s _he_ grouchy for?”

It took Kana a few moments to remember that Kiyotsugu and Jirō hadn’t stayed for dinner, which meant they’d missed the conversations that occurred later in the evening. If her friend had been present, she might have teased, but instead she just sighed. “Oh, it’s— he’s Rika’s doctor, that’s all.”

“Exactly.” Ayatori looked briefly grateful, glancing at her with an expression that seemed hard to decipher. “And Tsurara’s still recovering from her cold.” His fingers were still flicking out patterns she couldn’t understand, and she wondered if he was reassuring himself. He seemed to care a lot about Rika, after all, so maybe he was just worried? (The signing looked oddly familiar, though. Had she seen some of the yōkai last night using it? No, that was silly, why would _yōkai_ use sign language?)

Apparently caught off-guard, Kiyotsugu blinked a few times before turning to look at Kana expectantly. “Well, what about Keikain? You went home with her, didn’t you?”

That had been the plan, at least, though in the end it hadn’t really worked out anywhere close to how they’d intended. “I think she was feeling a bit unwell too. She told me she might stay home.” Which wasn’t untrue — Yura _had_ mentioned she was thinking of taking that yōkai’s suggestion before they’d parted, it was just said to both Kana and the yōkai monks escorting them. Plus, Miss Yokotani seemed to have been notified of her absence, which indicated that the yōkai had somehow made good on his word (though Kana wasn’t sure _how_ ).

“Well, I hope she gets better soon!” For a moment, Kana wondered if Kiyotsugu was actually showing genuine concern for his classmates, but— “We have very important plans to discuss for Golden Week, starting this weekend! Ienaga, since you’ve been to Keikain’s place, you can go let her know after school! Meanwhile, the rest of us shall head to Nura’s house, and—“

Ayatori shook his head, eyes narrowing. (Somehow, though, it didn’t seem all that scary to Kana). “The plans can _wait._ It would be wiser to discuss as a group once everyone’s better. Perhaps we can meet again at someone else’s house after school once Rika and Tsurara and Keikain have returned — would anyone like to offer?”

“Um, I-I’ll do it.”

For a few moments, Kana didn’t understand why everyone was looking at her, until she realized the voice speaking up had been her own. Still, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Since, um— well, my parents will be out late working, so we can use the living room.” And it had been a while since she’d had friends over, since Jirō was always busy with football and Rika always went right home.

It would be nice to have some company. She could make tea, and maybe buy some cakes, even.

Under the many murmured agreements of the group, Kiyotsugu eventually caved with a distinctly childish pout. The end-of-lunch bell rang before he could jump into another topic, which was just as well for Kana — she was sure they’d noticed she was underslept, and equally sure that she _didn’t_ want Kiyotsugu to hear about what had happened last night. He’d just make a big deal of it, get all excited about yōkai, and it wasn’t— it hadn’t been _fun_ , or _interesting_. It had been terrifying. She’d almost been molested, she’d almost _died_ — no way did Kana want Kiyotsugu hearing _anything_ about that.

The afternoon classes passed in a blur, and Kana managed to stumble through them on a sort of academic autopilot (what that said about their educational system was probably better left unstated). Time had seemed to be acting strangely all day, whirling and eddying around her like it wasn’t quite sure how to move past.

It managed to catch up to something almost normal as she was leaving the building, two small stacks of paper tucked neatly into her bag. A careful hand on her shoulder startled her as the doors swung shut behind her, and she twisted in place before hesitantly relaxing when she saw who it was.

“Mister Ayatori. What is it?”

He groaned comically, more expressive than most of what she’d seen of him since they met. “Just call me Shirō — it’s too formal, otherwise. Look, I noticed you were collecting homework for R- Rika and Keikain, right? I’ve got Tsurara’s, so I thought I’d offer to take over Rika’s as well.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t entirely unexpected, but Kana wanted to make sure her friends were alright — and see it with her own eyes, not just hear it secondhand. “It’s alright— I’d like to check in on her anyways. We could walk together though, if you’d like? I know you usually bike, but—“

“No, it’s fine.” She couldn’t see quite how he unlocked his bike from railing (or, for that matter, where he put the lock), but he offered her a very slight smile as he hooked his bag over the back grill. “Here, you can put your bag on as well— since you didn’t sleep well, I’d feel bad if I didn’t offer.”

Was it that obvious? She knew they’d noticed, but _still—_

Ayatori— well, Shirō— actually grinned, taking the bag from her hands before she realized she’d proffered it. “I’ve known Ri- Rika since we were little, and she never gets enough sleep. I’m well-acquainted with the signs.” His eyes crinkled in amusement when Kana giggled, because it was too accurate _not_ to, and his pace matched hers as they started down the sidewalk. “I won’t ask what happened, but if it’s something you need to talk about— well, since Rika’s not here, I can listen.”

And maybe it would be kind of good to talk to someone who hadn’t been involved. As far as Kana knew, Shirō had always been fairly ambivalent about the whole yōkai-hunting shtick, so maybe he would just— just _listen._

She managed a smile.

“That would be nice.”

* * *

 

_Look at how far you’ve come, to reach this point._

 

* * *

She knew he was still out there. She wasn’t sure why, but Yura knew that monk yōkai was still outside. The loud one had gone back, but the one with the dark hair and the wide hat was definitely still outside, in the alleyway running behind the shabby apartment building she’d gotten a room in.

Yura tried to sleep at first, but it didn’t work. She tried to practice, but the apartment just didn’t have the room, and — and maybe it was a weakness, but she didn’t want to go back outside. Meditation, a bath, even doing homework didn’t get her any closer to rest. After spending a half-hour on a math problem that was starting to swim tauntingly in front of her eyes, she gave up and strode across the room to the window, shoving it open.

“Hey! Why don’t you _go home_ alrea—”

The yōkai was gone. Yura rubbed her eyes and wondered if she’d been imagining him — but no, she was a better onmyōji than _that!_ She wouldn’t just make up yōkai presences, no matter how tired she was.

As though to reassure her (ironically enough), the yōkai’s presence reappeared within just a few minutes, though this time it was—

There was a knock on her door.

For whatever reason, this yōkai seemed to think she would let him into her _house_. Okay, not that it was much of a house, but it was the principle of the thing! “Just go home! You did your job, go tell your master you’re done and let me sleep!”

There was a pause, and then, “I have food?”

_Fuck._

Before her mind could quite catch up to her body, Yura had crossed the room and pulled the door open warily, narrowing her eyes at the tall figure standing on the other side. Sure enough, it was the same yōkai — Kurotabō, was what the leader had called him — with a calm expression and a comically out-of-place plastic bag in one hand. His eyes followed her gaze to the bag, and he smiled sheepishly. “I noticed you didn’t have much, so I figured—”

“Why? You’re a _yōkai_ , I’m an _onmyōji_ , _why would you—_ ”

“May I come in? Since we’re still at truce?”

Damn it, they _were_ , weren’t they. Begrudgingly, Yura stepped aside and allowed the yōkai to enter, shutting the door firmly behind him and carefully grabbing her wallet off of the counter before following him inside. (No way she was going to let herself be caught off guard, not again).

The yōkai set the bag down on her lonely-looking table, careful not to place it on top of her homework, and glanced back at her calmly. “Onmyōji or not, you’re still a child living alone.” His eyes seemed to glint blue in the darkness, but his posture was nonthreatening and his aura felt the same, so Yura warily joined him at the table. “As the Young Master said, I am a yōkai that was created by the wishes of children in need of a protector. In this time and place, I’ve been content to serve at my Master’s side, but— hm. You are still a child in need, and since we have a truce, I felt it would be prudent to offer help.”

A child-protector? Yura hadn’t heard anything about a yōkai like that. Still, he seemed to be peaceful, and just the thought of food was making her stomach grumble (summoning those shikigami earlier had taken a lot of energy), so she cautiously sat down and peered into the bag. “If that’s why you were created, then why are you— _ooh!_ ” The bag was much fuller than it had initially appeared. He’d brought lots of snacks, some drinks, and even a small rice cooker with a sealed bag of rice. “This is too much! How much was it, I can—”

“It’s no worry. The clan I serve has been around for a while, so we have enough human money to spare some.” He leaned back carefully against the wall as she pulled item after item from the bag. “You can’t just survive on snacks, so I trust you know how to use the rice cooker?”

“ _Do I know how to—_ I’m not _five_ , I know how to use a rice cooker!”

He chuckled, and Yura glared at him as she brought the rice cooker and accompanying rice over to her sad-looking counter. There had even been a small bottle of soy sauce, and when she opened the cooker she’d discovered a few packets of seasoning stashed inside. A part of her really wanted to eat everything now, but— no, that wouldn’t be practical, and she’d probably just end up with a stomachache. Instead, she stashed everything except for a bag of chips and one of the drinks in a cupboard, and returned to her seat at the table. “So why are you following the Lord of Pandemonium, if you’re supposed to protect children?”

To her surprise, his eyes softened, and when he tilted his hat back she could see him smiling. “It’s a long story, from many years before your time, but… well, the Second Commander helped me, once, make a very important choice. He reminded me of who I was, and I wanted to repay him.”

“Wha— wait, _Second_ Commander?” Yura was very glad she hadn’t opened the drink yet, because she didn’t really fancy spitting it all over her homework assignments. “You mean there’s more than _one_?”

The yōkai — okay, this was getting exhausting, she may as well just call him by name — raised an elegant eyebrow at her. “Not all yōkai live as long as you might expect. Our first commander, he who earned the title of the Lord of Pandemonium and gathered the first generation of our Hyakki Yakkō, passed leadership onto his son— let’s see, I suppose it would have been when he came of age, perhaps four centuries or so ago.”

And there’s a second spit-take she was very glad to have not actually been drinking for. “Four _centuries_? What do you _mean_ , that’s not old? _Four centuries is way too old!_ That would have been when Great-great-great— ugh, some-number-of-greats-grandfather Hidemoto was alive! There’s no way that guy’s still your leader.”

Kurotabō bowed his head, and with a wince Yura realized he looked mournful. “It’s true, the Second passed away some years ago. The Young Master, who you met last night, is his son.”

“So— so what, this is like a family business now?” She knew that was how onmyōji tended to run — large clans, passing down leadership to promising heirs through the generations — but yōkai? It didn’t seem to match up, somehow, to all the things her grandfather had taught her.

The monk shrugged. “Many yōkai clans do actually follow an inheritance structure. Our Yuki Onna, for one, have been in the clan for two generations now. The Bakeneko clan, as well — you might have seen a few of them last night, including their leader. First Street was their territory, originally — the Kyūso clan, who kidnapped you, seem to have taken it over. The Young Master wasn’t happy to hear about that.”

Yura’s head was swirling, and she took a large gulp of her drink as she tried to make sense of things. Apparently, the Lord of Pandemonium was an inherited position now, and they had multiple other yōkai groups serving under them— with some sort of an actual structure, even! Perhaps the changing of societal structures in the human world had somehow trickled down to yōkai as well — though, she reminded herself, not _all_ yōkai (that tsukumogami certainly hadn’t seemed orderly in any manner).

It was… curious, to say the least. And if all this was so new, how outdated was the _rest_ of her clan’s knowledge of yōkai?

“What else— um, what else is yōkai society like?”

This was a rare opportunity, and it would never hurt to learn more about the creatures she was hunting. _Know thy enemy_ , and all that.

It wasn’t clear if Kurotabō realized what she was doing, but he smiled slightly and tilted his hat back again so he could watch her appraisingly. “Hm, I wonder where to begin...”

* * *

 

_And just think of the future ahead of you. It’s looking like a bright one._

 

* * *

Tsurara sighed, staring through the wall in front of her as her hands tried to independently remember how to wash a bowl. Being too close to Rikuo while he was this feverish was difficult, and she wasn’t old enough yet that she could manipulate her fear to protect herself without causing him damage. Once the heat had become too much, Setsura had chided her out of the room and taken her place, and—

Well, and here she was. _Being of very little use, as usual._

“Tsurara? I thought you were with Master Rikuo, is everything alright?”

She blinked, glancing up at the older yōkai who had entered the room while she was distracted. “Oh, Kejōrō. Mom’s with him now. The fever was making it a little too warm for me, so she said I should go do something _productive_.” A quick look down at the bowl in her hands revealed that it was now very wet and soapy, but no cleaner than it had been when she started, and she sighed again. “I guess I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

Kejōrō watched thoughtfully for a few minutes as she made an effort to finish washing at least the one bowl, and grabbed her arm gently before she could reach for another. “Hey, forget this stuff. We can let the boys handle it for a change — I think you could use someone to talk to, and everyone else interesting is either gone or busy.”

Pausing in the hallway, she seemed to take measure of — something — before turning to smile and wink at Tsurara. “And hey, none of that Kejōrō business — if you get to be Tsurara, just call me Kino.”

“Huh?” The young Yuki Onna blinked up at her taller companion, confused. She and Kejōrō had never been close, especially after the whole matter of who would be Rikuo’s daytime guards, and on top of that she’d always thought— “But— um, but don’t you and Kubinashi not like your human names? I-I mean, I know his is new, but he’s always kind of stiff about it, and since yours is… _well_.”

As they made their way out into the garden, bypassing the porch and instead heading towards some of the larger rocks that lined Kappa’s pond, Kejōrō laughed. “That’s all on him, I’m afraid. His human life was — hm, grittier than mine, perhaps. It’s not a time he likes to remember, I think, and a bit of a trauma spot on top of that. But for me? Being human wasn’t all that awful, and I rather liked my name. Especially now, when the only people who use it are people I trust.”

“You trust me?” _But we’re yōkai._

“Well, we’re both loyal to Master Rikuo, after all. And his style is quite different from Master Rihan’s.” Toeing out of her geta and socks, Kejōrō dipped her feet in the water with a sigh. “I think he’s bringing something a bit more _human_ to how he leads, and I can’t say I dislike it. Not to say being a yōkai isn’t fascinating, but there are some things I do miss about my life before.”

Hesitantly, Tsurara copied her action, watching the way she could tap her feet against the water’s surface and find tiny hexagonal crystals forming when she pulled them away. In a way, she was envious. Kejōrō and Kubinashi, who had both lived as humans before becoming yōkai, were able to relate to Rikuo in a way she never could. Even Zen probably understood him better than her, if only because his family’s short lifespans forced them into a slightly more human mindset out of necessity (human lives were so _fleeting_ , after all, so they had throw themselves into living with a vigor that some yōkai seemed to lack). Even though she’d been at his side since he was a babe, even though he trusted her like a sister — somehow, the doubt always managed to creep back in.

Kejōrō’s hand rested gently on her shoulder. “Couple yen for your thoughts, kiddo?”

“It’s just—” There didn’t seem to be any way to say it that didn’t sound miserable, and she sighed. “Sometimes, I feel so useless. Everyone but Lord Zen is older than me, and even he’s got the whole medicine thing going. I’m older than him! I should be able to be useful too, but I’m—” She kicked at the water in frustration, signing a quick apology to Kappa when he popped up in surprise to look at the splash now frozen mid-spray. “—I’m not even a good Yuki Onna. With Mom here, they don’t _need_ me — she’s centuries old, so what use would a three-decade kid be?”

The hand on her shoulder drifted to trace light circles on her back. “Everyone has to start somewhere, Tsurara. I know I was certainly quite confused when I made the transition, and I have it on good authority that Kubinashi’s gotten tangled up in his own string more times than either of us can count — and trust me, I worked with courtesans, I know my numbers.” Tsurara giggled at that, because tangling people up in Kubinashi’s string had been one of Rikuo’s favorite pranks as a child (and tangling Kubinashi himself had always made the both of them laugh), and Kejōrō grinned. “I’m sure, once upon a time, your mom was just a three-decade kid too. Even _Master Rihan_ was — oh, the stories your mother’s told!”

“My mother? She knew the Second Commander when he was young?”

Kejōrō winked. “Since he was a babe, just like you and Master Rikuo. She took some delight, I think, in teasing him about the number of trees he walked into while he was learning to control his fear. And besides,” She added, gesturing to the pond in front of them, “Look at you! You’re not useless at all, Tsurara.”

Popping up beside them to rest against the edge of the pond, Kappa nodded sagely. “I agree— I think it would be cool to team up, sometime. Setsura’s kinda scary, and she’s got all her own style — but you’re lots better at working with other people than she is, even I know that much.” He waved one webbed hand vaguely, as though to say _‘and look at me, I live alone in a pond’_.

“Exactly!” Latching onto this, Kejōrō turned to look at Tsurara with a sly smile. “I mean, anyone who can work with Kubinashi for this long and _not_ want to string him up by his ankles is either me, or a saint, which means they’re definitely a saint because I’ve strung him up plenty — _and he deserved it every time_.”

Caught between two sources of positivity, Tsurara couldn’t help but start to smile a little as well. “It’s not like I haven’t been tempted…”

Kappa rolled his eyes. “Who hasn’t? He’s always so serious. One day I’m definitely going to dunk him in the pond — oh, and those monks too.”

“Oh, don’t get me _started_ on Ao and Kuro! You know, the other night, they were—”

Relaxing into the playful banter of two yōkai snipping at their friends (maybe somewhere else it would have been comrades, but here it was— it was definitely friends), Tsurara exhaled a cloud of mist and allowed her worry to seep out into the cool stone and the crisp breeze. Zen and her mother were looking after Rikuo, so he’d definitely be alright. And she was young, but— but she _wasn’t_ useless. Oikawa Tsurara was a _good_ Yuki Onna, with lots of growing to do, and she _did_ belong here.

Right now, here meant diving headlong back into the conversation to poke fun at Hitotsume with a passion.

But really, here would always mean in this clan, at Rikuo’s side. And even though she might need to be reminded a few times ( _or a million_ ), that would always be true.

* * *

 

_I’m so proud of you, Rikuo._

_Sleep easy, because your journey’s only just begun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh i don't know how i wrote this so fast but it's much shorter than last chapter and i'm kind of fond of it! :) i'm hoping to do more of these interludes scattered throughout the fic, and i figured i'd go for our main girls first because they all deserve some love (and character development).
> 
> as always, un-beta'd, and since this was written in basically a day and a half please feel free to leave constructive feedback. and, like usual, comments are my lifeblood and always appreciated.
> 
> <3 happy holidays to all!!


	10. sick day | golden week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Old memories can be hard to bear. Still, it's always nice to make new ones._

_He was floating._

_Was he floating? No, that wasn’t quite right — he was wading, waist-deep in watercolor clouds that eddied and pulled at his legs, cool and smelling of something just out of a distant memory._

_Yellow flowers bloomed in the distance._

_His legs were growing shorter, he was running faster, he was running through watercolor clouds up to his neck as they tangled his hair into braids, his legs were short and he thought he might drown._

_Yellow flowers were blooming in the distance, and the sky turned red, and the watercolors ran red, and the stars went out and a shadow he couldn’t quite reach fell down like a paper mannequin._

_He was drowning in clouds the color of blood the scent of blood the clouds were blood and it dripped from his bangs as he stumbled to a stop in front of the shadow that wasn’t a shadow any longer._

_It was a green robe no longer green, a smile forever frozen and cracked and bleeding._

_Yellow flowers bloomed and wilted overhead._

_In the distance, someone was singing._

_Closer by, someone was laughing._

_All around him, someone was screaming—_

“Dad!”

The visual shift as wakefulness hit was immediate, soft spring daylight replacing shadows and red watercolors, and yet the scent of bitter copper remained. It was disorienting, as though his different senses were existing in multiple places at once and couldn’t quite decide which direction to go. Rikuo’s limbs felt heavy and waterlogged, as though the watercolors were still yet trying to drag him under, and for a sickening, jolting moment he thought they’d pull him all the way though time and space to that moment. He could see sunlight, but the air stank of blood and there was _still someone screaming—_

Hands pressed against his shoulders, and a voice managed to break through the fog. “—kuo, Rikuo, snap out of it! Shit, Yuki Onna, what the fuck is going on, what’s he—”

His vision was blurring in and out, flickering between times and places, and even though Rikuo knew it couldn’t be real and it couldn’t be ( _everything he wished_ )— “Dad? _Dad_ , dad, you can’t— you _can’t—_ ” You can’t go under those flowers, you have to stay, _you have to—_ “ _—please—_!”

_Please don’t die._

“—by the front gate, if you could—”

“—needed here, what about—”

Snatches out conversation filtered into his clouded, cluttered thoughts through the haze of desperate panic. Someone was moving nearby — no, more than one person? Where was he— there was sunlight. Soft sunlight, at a low angle. Something heavy over his arms — ropes? Fear?

No, blankets.

The air smelled — it smelled _clean_. The scent of blood dissipated back into the dark crevices of memory, and left behind a crisp breeze and the tang of crushed herbs. Bitter, with a sweet aftertaste—

_Zen._

It smelled like Zen. Zen was here — had been here? Rikuo couldn’t make himself move, the blood was gone and the clouds were gone but the walls were shrinking and shrinking in on him and the thoughts wouldn’t leave. They were circling and circling, eddying just like the watercolor clouds that ran red with his father’s blood and he had to get out, he had to do something, he couldn’t stay here _he couldn’t breathe—_

“—uo, Rikuo, it’s okay, it’s okay—” Familiar hands pulled the blankets off of his chest, strong arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into a careful embrace that smelled of something warm and earthen. Calloused, scarred fingers brushed against the sides of his cheeks. “—hey, _shh_ , it’s alright. You’re alright.”

“Dad’s— but _dad’s—_ ”

“Shh, it’s alright. It was just a dream, that’s all.” Someone was rocking him, or at least the closest to rocking one could get when the person being rocked was larger than an average infant (or exceptionally-sized melon), and his reaching, grasping hands (trying to catch hold of _something long gone_ ) were gently redirected to the folds of almost-familiar cloth. “It was just a dream, it’s okay—”

“Is she going to be alright?”

“Got a bit overexerted.” That was— that was Zen, it _had_ to be. “Came down with a fever late last night, and they tend to hit hard. Plus, with you all talking about Rihan yesterday, it brought up some bad memories.”

“Bad memories? Why, what do you—”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. C’mon, you head along, now’s not the best time to visit. Oi, Kino, why don’t you give her some compan— _ow_ , what was that for, you crazy woman?”

“You’re always so rude! Come on, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. We’ll let her know you came by — now, where were you headed?”

“Ah, well, after this I was—”

Voices faded in and out of awareness. Had that been Zen? Or was he just imagining things? He was crying — that was real, that couldn’t be his imagination, he was definitely crying. If they saw him now, they would — _they might—_ but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t, and he didn’t _want_ to, because at least that was evidence that this was _real_.

Something cool pressed against his forehead, and the world slowly stilled and fell quiet.

This time, when he slept, he didn’t dream.

_(Until he did.)_

_Rubble rained down over his head and the sky went pitch-black, thin slivers of light penetrating like needles through the fabric of reality. Everything was dust and grey, and the sound of weeping echoed hollowly before it cut out with a sickening crunch._

_His arms were too short and his hair was tugged into braids that felt tight and constricting like a noose around his neck, everything smelled like water and death and someone was screaming._

_Someone was laughing._

_Sharp teeth and a sickening grin were creeping closer, stepping over too-small bodies. He backed away and fell, and the ground rose to meet him with a cackle._

_“Torii— Maki, Kiyotsugu— Jirō— Kana,_ Kana _—”_

_The world closed in around him, laughing._

_“No, no— NO—”_

“—Hey, shit, it’s happening again—”

He was screaming. Hands were reaching for his shoulders, voices speaking over one another, and he was screaming.

“—re’d Kubinashi go? He’s better at—”

He was crying. They were all gone, he’d been too late, _he’d been too late_ and he couldn’t save them now.

“—cooking with Kejōrō, I can—”

Someone shifted nearby. The room was dark. It was too dark — it was _too dark_ , the sky was pitch-black and there were— _there were—_

“—be alright, let me—”

Needles of light, needles of light needles _piercing and angry—_

The hands that held him this time were cold.

He slept.

_(He dreamed.)_

_Flames flickered higher and higher and they threatened to consume the world. The air stank of ash and smoke, and it was suffocating him. His feet blistered and peeled until bloody footsteps followed his path as he ran and ran until all he found was the same ground he’d stained before._

_Wood burned, fire crackled, and rubble fell onto his shoulders as he continued running on feet bleeding down to the bones. A clack-clack-clack beat underneath the screaming, and when he paused to look down he found nothing but skeleton connecting him to the ground. Even that was beginning to burn._

_The world was burning down._

_The world was burning down, and when he finally found a room unsullied by rust-red footprints—_

_When he finally found—_

_Bone-thin hands as white as death and beginning to blister—_

_Hair stained red with— stained red with—_

_Red eyes staring blankly—_

_Ash-white skin stained red with—_

_“No, no— no_ no NO—”

Wakefulness seemed slower and slower each time it arrived, like an old movie fuzzing from scene to scene without any actual idea of how to edit film. Or, perhaps, like a child introduced to powerpoint transitions for the very first time — it arrived in bits and pieces, twisting and twirling into place without any measure of sense or reason. Rikuo knew he was crying, but he’d been crying _then_ too— or had he?

_Was it a dream, or a memory?_

He could _feel_ the heat of the fire, racing up and down underneath his skin and biting at his feet as though he was walking on coals despite being curled up on a mattress. He could smell smoke, so thick he thought he might suffocate on the ashes that ( _were_ ) weren’t filling the air. The tears felt like burning brands on his cheeks and he squeezed his eyes shut, rolling onto his side and trying to block out the phantom sounds echoing around the inside of his skull.

A sob caught in his throat and he choked, coughing into his hands and trying to remind himself of how to breath. Rikuo knew— he _knew_ , he was coherent enough for that — that it had been a dream, but the manufactured memories assaulting his senses failed to cease. He knew it wasn’t real, and yet the thoughts and fears wouldn’t stop battering him— what if, _what if—_

“ _—Zen?_ ”

His voice sounded tinny and unreal to his years, but he felt it hum in his throat and that was— that was _real_ , wasn’t it? And when immediate hands came to rest on top of his, he knew it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. But they were the wrong hands, too rough and too strong, the bone not distinct enough under the skin, and when a voice finally broke through the remnants of his dream—

“He’s sleeping, but I’m here now— Tsurara’s going back to school tomorrow so she’s sleeping, but I’ll stay back with you so—”

That wasn’t right, that couldn’t— he needed to _know_ , know for sure that it was just a dream. “—no, no— Zen, where’s Zen? He’s okay, right? He’s— he has to be, he has to— _has to— I, I can’t—_ ”

“ _Shh_ , shh. Do you want me to get him? I can go wake him up, would that help?”

The words caught in his throat ( _he didn’t even know what he’d been trying to say_ ), and Rikuo curled in on himself in an attempt to block out the still-lingering scent of blood and fire, shivering as imaginary flames flickered beneath his skin. He tried to breathe, vision blurring even as the greenish blob beside him shifted and moved away until it disappeared. Somehow, even though the ash was lost to memory and subconscious, it felt like his throat closing in on itself and he couldn’t draw a breath. What if— _what if—_ what if he’d been too late and _this_ was the dream and he was going to _wake up_ and— and _Zen would be—_

“ _Woah_ , hey, take it easy.”

His surprise caught like a sob in his throat.

“ _Zen?_ Zen, is that—”

Thin, long-fingered hands brushed against his forehead, almost too warm even through the phantom flames, and that was— that was right, that was real. “Yeah, it’s me. What the hell happened? Kubinashi said you asked for me— couldn’t have let me sleep a bit longer, huh?”

Zen _always_ talked like that, so it couldn’t be a dream, right? “ _You were—_ you’re _alright_.”

“Tch, you kidding me? Wouldn’t exactly call coughing up half a lung every week ‘alright’, y’know.”

“But— but you’re _alive_.” Rikuo was still crying, and he tried to force his vision into focus on the soft purple of Zen’s robe, the pale mint-green of his hair, the dark red (not as dark as blood, a little too pink, a little too _bright_ ) of his friend’s eyes. His arm shook as he tried to reach out with what little strength he could, and a pale hand helped guide his grasping fingers to the folds of fabric draped over Zen’s knee. If his eyes agreed, and his hands agreed, and if the scent of herbs mixed with something bittersweet _wasn’t_ a lie as it washed away the lingering stench of ash and smoke— “I’m not— I’m not _dreaming_ , right? You’re really alive, you’re _not—_ ”

He couldn’t finish, words breaking off into a choked sob that stung at his eyes and made something ache hollowly in his chest, and he covered his face with an arm. Damn it, he didn’t want anyone to see him like this— and if this was real, if he wasn’t dreaming any longer? Rikuo couldn’t afford to look weak like this, not in front of his Hyakki Yakkō, not in front of— _in front of—_

“The fuck have you been dreaming, if you have to ask that?” When Rikuo tried to pull his hand away, embarrassed, Zen stopped him with a careful grasp on his wrist. His voice was sharp, but just as gentle underneath as the bite of the stringent herbal scent following him belied its sweet aftertaste. “Of course I’m alive, and you’d better believe I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

A watery laugh managed to escape Rikuo, because wasn’t that _just so typical_. Zen made reassurance sound like a threat. “ _—hah_ , you— you better keep your word, then, or else— or _else_ I’ll—”

Somehow, the laugh dissolved into another sob, one that made his shoulders shake and his fingers spasm weakly. The floodgates cracked — which wasn’t to say that they broke, rather, they simply relaxed far enough that the lynchpin fell out and the doors swung open all on their own — and he couldn’t stop a second sob from escaping, then third and a fourth. The burning slowly ( _finally_ ) disappeared from his skin, all the heat concentrating into the tears slipping uncontrollably down his cheeks. His eyes stung, his chest ached, and every part of his body was beginning to remind him of injuries and sore muscles and slow-fading pains, and yet a part of Rikuo felt happier than he had all week.

Beside him, he heard Zen half-sigh, half-laugh, and felt the weight on the mattress shift as his friend swung his legs up and leaned back against the pillows carefully. One arm, thin and fever-warm (but still nowhere near as hot as the fire that was _gone_ , that _couldn’t hurt him again_ ), wrapped around Rikuo’s shoulders and tugged him into a slightly more comfortable position.

Zen’s voice sounded stuck somewhere between amusement and reluctant affection. “Just this once, you’re allowed to use me as a pillow, no violent conquest required.” He paused before adding, quieter and to himself, “Still can’t believe you beat me in a pillow fight. A _pillow_ fight! I’m a full-grown yōkai, and _yet—_ ” Rikuo chuckled weakly between one uncontrolled breath and the next, and Zen’s arm shook as he snorted in laughter. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing. One day, I’ll get my revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“Yo, Kubinashi.” The neckless yōkai had appeared in the doorway, and though Rikuo’s vision was tear-blurred, it looked like he was smiling. Zen raised his free hand lazily. “Revenge for hitting me with a pillow and sitting on me. It’ll come one of these days.”

Crossing the room on quiet feet, Kubinashi chuckled. “I suppose you’re just biding your time, then?”

“Obviously.”

He climbed onto the bed carefully, settling himself in a sitting position between Rikuo and the wall with his back against the headboard. “Are things doing a bit better in here, then?”

Even though his eyes were starting to dry and his sobs were beginning to fade into hiccups, Rikuo’s throat was still too tight to speak, and he was wearily grateful when Zen spoke up in his dry, familiar manner. “Well, crying’s better than screaming if you ask me, so sure. Sounds like the fever did a real job on him — I think you were right about the nightmares.”

“Last night?”

 _Last night?_ What did Kubinashi mean by that?

“Far as I can tell, no. Seems like it’s been older memories — first the Second’s death, then Gagoze, and then what I’d guess was my house.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Do you think he remembers—?”

What? What was Kubinashi talking about? “What do— what happened last night? Did something—”

_Oh._

Rikuo sat bolt-upright, pulling away from Zen’s arm and Kubinashi’s hand (which had begun idly playing with the ends of his hair) as memories slammed into his awareness. “ _Kyūso!_ That fucking bastard, I’m going to— Wait, _last night?_ ” That couldn’t be. If that was last night, then— “No. No, no no _no—_ Damnit!” Zen pushed himself up onto his elbows, but Rikuo only barely marked it through the horror slowly dawning.

_He’d been too late._

“Damn it, if I could have _just—_ If I could’ve just _done better—_ ” The tears reappearing in his eyes this time were hot and angry, and a part of him felt nauseous. _How was he going to tell Kana’s family what happened?_ And _Yura’s—_ the onmyōji were going to kill them now, for sure. What was he going to tell them when they came? “Did you— did someone at least get— get their bodies? And tell Kana’s parents, and Yura’s— _oh gods_ , we’ll have to tell her family too, I’ll have to go to Kyōto and—”

A firm hand rested on his shoulder. “Hey, hold on, what’s this about bodies? Oi, Kubinashi, you said everyone got out okay.”

“They did.” Kubinashi’s voice was tired, and he sighed heavily before elaborating. “Rikuo, Miss Ienaga and Miss Keikain are perfectly fine. A little shaken, but otherwise unharmed. Miss Ienaga returned to school yesterday, and Kurotabō reported that Miss Keikain seems intent on attending tomorrow.”

Rikuo’s mind was slowly calming, trying to make sense of the information being presented (for some reason, the nausea wasn’t going away). “What— but what _happened?_ How did they— who—”

Always a master at reading between the lines (or, in this case, unfinished sentences), Kubinashi barely paused before responding. “You transformed again, last night. After you’d returned from Kyūso’s trap and informed us of the situation. Following your lead, we arrived at the rats’ lair in time to decimate their clan and rescue your friends. You passed out on the way back.” When Rikuo managed to glance sideways at him, Kubinashi’s expression appeared slightly concerned. “You’ve been feverish for just over a day since. It’s currently early Tuesday morning.”

“I’m— it’s— I did _what?_ ”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude—” Rikuo thought he heard someone mutter ‘ _that’s_ a surprise’, but Kiyotsugu either didn’t notice or didn’t care, since he continued anyways, “—but what’s this big-brother guy doing here?” Zen, seated between Rikuo and Tsurara (and looking very odd in the modern clothes he’d apparently procured from somewhere), crossed his arms and directed an unimpressed expression across the room.

Frankly, Rikuo was wondering the same thing. “He insisted, don’t ask me why.”

“You know damn well why, idiot.” Calmly ignoring Kana’s indignant glare (his human friends had been a bit taken aback by the way he and Zen talked to each other, although Yura and Maki seemed more amused than anything — the whole sibling-relationship vibe must have really resonated with them), Zen rolled his eyes and flicked Rikuo’s forehead with a lazy hand. “You’re still not back to a normal temperature, and that fever did a real number on you. I don’t want you overworking yourself and relapsing.”

“Wait, Rika, you’re still sick?” Jirō grinned, fidgeting with a tennis ball Kana had thrown at him after he nearly knocked a vase over while distracted. “Man, I thought you were pretty smart, but you know what they say about idiots—”

Now _that_ was just insulting (deadname aside). “Yeah, that they catch colds, which I _didn’t!_ I haven’t sneezed once!”

“Uh-huh, you _sure_ about that?”

“Shima, that’s bullshit! Have you seen how often Natsumi gets sick?” Maki, squeezed into an old armchair by the window with Torii (both of them looking rather squished and comfortable), crossed her arms and shot Jirō an eye-roll. “And she’s still number one in our grade, so _there!_ ”

“Did anyone want tea? I also have some cakes—”

“That would be lovely, Kana, thank you.”

“ _Ooh_ , me too!”

“Cake? Man, cake sounds _so good_ right now.”

 _‘I thought Kuro said he’d brought her food.’_ Kubinashi, seated on Rikuo’s other side, signed covertly while simultaneously nodding politely and telling a slightly-flustered Kana that he would appreciate green tea if she had any.

Glancing at Yura, who appeared to be so enraptured by the thought of cake that she barely noticed Jirō nearly falling off of his seat beside her, Rikuo thought for a moment before signing back. _‘Her onmyōji abilities probably take a lot of energy, and she does seem to be pretty strong for her age. She probably has to eat more than usual to make up for it.’_

 _‘What, like you?’_ Zen’s signing lacked the fluid grace of Kubinashi’s, his motions instead quick and sharply enunciated. As he was often dealing with a wide range of patients, he had to maintain efficient clarity in his communication, and that included finger-sign. This meant that when his fingers tapped against Rikuo’s shoulder, the meaning was crystalline. _‘Sometimes I worry about your mum and Kejōrō, trying to feed you on top of the rest of the Main House.’_

“Wha— hey, I do not eat _that_ much!” Forgetting to remain in sign, Rikuo froze for a moment when the rest of his classmates turned to look at him in confusion. Were they going to be suspicious? Or ask questions? Was that going to seem weird or would they be able to just let it go?

Jirō leaned forward, grinning slyly. “I dunno, Rika. You’re pretty competitive at the bread window at lunch.”

Wow, rude. Not the use of his deadname — that was unavoidable (and Zen’s hand on his shoulder helped him keep from flinching whenever it came up) — but using his mad dash at lunch against him? _Totally_ not cool. “Yeah, that’s because _everyone’s_ competitive — they always run out way too quick! And I’ll have you remember I always end up buying stuff for you and Kana too, so I have to get there early!” To be fair, he was exaggerating a bit — recently, Kana had taken to demanding that Jirō do the bread run some days — but seriously, how rude was it to comment on his eating habits? Especially when they thought he was a girl! “Besides, you’re one to talk! You always have food in your bag!”

“It’s carbs, _carbs!_ I need energy for football! Oh, thanks,” Jirō paused his retort to accept a small plate of cake from Kana with a toothy grin, “How’d you know I liked—”

“Chocolate-on-chocolate?” She smiled, the picture of a supremely satisfied hostess. “I’ve seen you sneaking some out of your bag at school, and you mentioned it around your birthday last year. I think you were probably dropping hints, but it wasn’t like I could make you a whole cake, so—”

He looked suitably surprised. “You remember that? Dang. _I_ barely remember that. And it’s chill, some of my teammates and I went out to a shop and got some.”

“Hey, that sounds fun! Maybe we should all do that sometime.” Torii, who had seemed content to sip her tea and pick at the large piece of cake she and Maki were sharing, piped up. “Golden Week starts tomorrow, doesn’t it? If everyone’s free, let’s go do that sometime before it ends!”

This seemed to have been the segue Kiyotsugu was waiting for, as he latched onto her words with a reinvigorated expression. “Actually, I have very exciting plans for all of us during Golden Week, so don’t go filling up your schedules!”

Maki, mouth full of cake, rolled her eyes (Rikuo was tempted to do the same). “Your plans seriously aren’t going to even leave one afternoon free? It’s not like we’ll spend a whole day eating cake.”

“You might.”

“ _Natsumi, I swear—_ ”

“That’s right, you mentioned something about plans last Monday.” Handing out the last of the tea and cake, Kana resettled herself between Kubinashi and Rikuo on the sofa with the expression of someone determined to keep some semblance of peace. “Is this something else your uncle found? Like a yo—” Because she was leaning slightly against his side, Rikuo could feel the tremor that ran through her shoulders as she paused before swallowing and continuing, and found himself welling with pride. ( _This was his friend_ , he knew how scared she had been and yet _here she was—_ that was worth being proud of). “—a yōkai, like that doll?”

Kiyotsugu seemed far too excited as he shook a finger (and his head) in response. “Close, but you’re not _quite_ on the mark! No, this is _much_ bigger than a single tsumukomagi—”

“ _Tsukumogami._ ”

“You’re pronouncing it wrong.”

“It’s ‘tsukumogami’, Kiyotsugu.”

“—whatever!” He continued, unperturbed. “No, my loyal compadres, I have a much greater plan for this coming week. You see, my family has recently entered in a rental agreement for a vacation home in the mountains.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Rikuo saw Kana share a look with — to his surprise — both Torii and Maki. The look itself wasn’t particularly surprising, since he knew Kana’s family had always been a little strapped for money, and she’d always felt a bit self-conscious about it. Judging by their expressions, ranging from discomfited to exasperated, he figured Torii and Maki’s homes were in similar straits. It wasn’t as though he could comment, considering that the Nura family had amassed a decent amount of money over the centuries — and from the way Yura glanced awkwardly between Kiyotsugu and the rest of the group, it seemed as though she was in the same boat.

Still, it seemed unfair (or at _least_ shortsighted) of Kiyotsugu to bring it up like this. “That’s really nice, but what does that have to do with us?”

“I am glad you asked!” If anything, his classmate seemed encouraged by the question (rather than slowed by the unspoken reprimand). “Miss Nura, have you ever heard of the yōkai _Gyūki_?”

Rikuo fought to keep his expression passive as he shook his head, throwing in a shrug for good measure and focusing on the sensation of Zen’s hand suddenly tight on his shoulder in order to force his racing thoughts into order. Most of Kiyotsugu’s description (no doubt elaborate and only partially true) flowed through one ear and out the other, not quite loud enough to be heard over his own mind.

He didn’t often interact with the board members outside of the (often tense and rarely fair) meetings he’d sat in on, so it took a few moments to piece together his interactions with Gyūki. The man (well, yōkai, but he rarely took any other form) was always fairly solemn and even-minded, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s and never stopped observing those around him — Rikuo more often than others, it sometimes felt. They’d only spoken once, when Rikuo was ten and still had trouble remembering to answer to his new name, and he’d gotten the impression that Gyūki was withholding his judgement on Rikuo until he was less of a child.

A little demeaning, perhaps, but neither openly malevolent nor openly supportive.

From what he was gathering of Kiyotsugu’s spiel, the rented vacation home was located on Mt. Nejireme, at the heart of Gyúki’s territory. The proposal, it seemed, was that the group go spend a night (or a few) there during Golden Week, enjoying the location and searching for yōkai in the area. As long as they spoke to Gyūki about it and made sure to set guidelines for everyone involved, Rikuo didn’t see any real problem with it. During their few interactions, he’d never gotten the impression that the older yōkai had particularly strong feelings about harming humans (at least, during _this_ era).

Which really didn’t help explain why Zen’s arm was so tense by his side, or why Kubinashi’s fingers were tapping anxious nonsense on the couch (forceful enough that Rikuo could _feel_ the impacts even with Kana between them, hence how he knew it was nonsense and not a message).

When he glanced across Zen’s chest to look at her, Tsurara seemed similarly puzzled. Considering that she was both young (unlike Kubinashi) and didn’t hold any sort of official role or position (unlike he and Zen, to a degree), she’d probably never even spoken to Gyūki before, so it wasn’t particularly surprising that she didn’t have much of an immediate reaction.

What did come as a surprise was the fact that when he turned to look at Yura, she appeared even more concerned than Zen and Kubinashi _combined_. Of course, she was an onmyōji, so it wasn’t like she would be particularly nonchalant about encountering yōkai — especially considering what she’d gone through with Kyūso just earlier that week — but the immediate tension in her shoulders seemed a little too intense for just a general wariness. There was something about Gyūki _specifically_ that was setting her on edge. It wasn’t unreasonable to think she’d probably heard of him — as far as Rikuo knew, Gyūki was one of the oldest members of the Nura Syndicate, possibly even older than Nurarihyon himself — but he had to wonder what sort of rumors would warrant a reaction like _that_.

Kiyotsugu was still rambling, now more about Mt. Nejireme itself than Gyūki, and Rikuo knew he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer — not when he had _that_ expression. (As frustrating and occasionally dangerous as it was, there was something to be admired about Kiyotsugu’s dedication to his passion). And if Kiyotsugu went, Jirō would go too. Torii and Maki seemed swayed by the mention of natural hot springs attached to the rented mansion, and even Kana was starting to look intrigued. If they all went, Yura would definitely go too, to protect them.

Regardless of what his day guards said or did, there really wasn’t any other choice.

“That sounds like it’ll be fun. So when do you want us to leave?”

_‘Idiot, what the fuck—’_

_‘Master Rikuo, what are you doing?’_

Ignoring the signed (and tapped) protests coming from either side, Rikuo took a moment to marvel at Kubinashi’s impressive poker-face before returning his attention to Kiyotsugu, who seemed delighted by his unspoken agreement. “Well, Miss Nura, I have in fact already made arrangements! Although Golden Week begins tomorrow, as it is Shōwa Day, I would _hardly_ want to leave so early and unprepared! Therefore, we will be departing for Mt. Nejireme on Saturday morning instead, and returning next Tuesday! Be sure to pack your bags well! That goes for you all as well,” He added, swinging his arm in a wide gesture to encompass the rest of the gathered group, “and I expect to see you all there!”

“Yo, mind if I tag along?”

Turning to stare at Zen’s impassive expression, Rikuo gaped for a few moments. “Zen, what the _fu—_ ”

“You’re still not fully recovered. Like hell I’m letting you go tramp all over some mountain and undo all my damn work.” Which was a blatant lie, as they both knew full well that Rikuo’s fever hadn’t been due to any sort of ordinary sickness, and it was hardly going to be affected by some time in the wilds. “And we can share a room, so it’s not like your friend would have to worry about extra space or whatever.”

Surprise (and suspicion) quickly became the last things on Rikuo’s mind, and he groaned and buried his face in his hands at the sound of Kana’s _gasp_ from his other side. She sounded as though she couldn’t decide whether to be delighted or scandalized. “ _Share a room_? But Rika’s— and you’re— _oh_ , is this like—”

Zen’s brief confusion was almost audible, before he snorted and shrugged (that much, Rikuo could tell from the way his weight shifted). “Relax, it’s not some big deal. We do that sort of thing all the time — always have, since this one was just a little brat. Oi, what the hell did you tell these guys about me, huh?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to! It just came up in conversation, and then they _wouldn’t stop asking—_ ” Overcome with mortification at the memory, Rikuo desperately wished he was a turtle so he could curl back into his shell and _not have to deal with this_. (Yura was laughing behind her hand, clearly amused by the corner he’d driven himself into — and she _knew_ why it wasn’t weird, so now she was obviously just enjoying his misfortune). “Even _Mom_ got in on it! It was totally unfair!”

To his chagrin, Kiyotsugu simply grinned in response, hand-waving away his embarrassment like it was a passing fly. “Why, of course you may join us! The Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol will always welcome those who are interested! And what about you two, Ayatori, Miss Oikawa? You’ve both been awfully _quiet_ , you know.”

“Oh, I’d love to come! My cold’s nearly gone, after all.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to.” In contrast with Tsurara’s upbeat reply, Kubinashi smiled carefully and inclined his head in the perfect picture of polite apology. “My family often spends the holidays together, you see, and I don’t think they’d appreciate it if I went off on some trip instead.”

Rikuo knew it wasn’t entirely untrue — Kubinashi and Kejōrō (who were pretty much the closest thing to family either of them had) often did take time during the holidays to go on walks or just sit together and talk — but considering that one year out of _multiple centuries_ together could easily be given an exception, it was almost certainly an excuse. One that meant Kubinashi specifically didn’t want to go on this trip — and yet he hadn’t made any further protests against Rikuo going, which seemed to say it couldn’t really be too dangerous, right?

… Or maybe Kubinashi just didn’t want to be stuck in the mountains with a bunch of kids for three days. He was impressively patient, but Rikuo could tell that sometimes his patience tended to wear thin after too long.

The mood felt a little heavy — had they been silent for too long? Had Kiyotsugu responded? Probably time for a quip, something that would make at least one person laugh. “Y’know, are you sure you’re not just making excuses to spend the whole week hanging out with Kino? I mean, _seriously_ , you and your weak spot for girls—”

Kubinashi retorted by reaching behind Kana to smack him with a pillow, which— yeah, that was fair. Past him, Yura seemed to inhale some of her cake by accident, coughing for a moment before glancing curiously in his direction. She probably was wondering who Kino was — as far as Rikuo could remember, Kejōrō hadn’t actually met his classmates yet, and she’d only come up in conversation a few times.

Meanwhile, Jirō cackled. “Looks like you’re an exception to that, Rika! Man, Ayatori, you got something to _hide_?”

“Not in the least.” Rolling his eyes, Kubinashi leaned back against the well-worn cushions of Kana’s sofa and refused to meet the amused glances being sent his way. To an unknowing observer, he would have the appearance of one who was supremely unflustered, but Rikuo could see the tinge of pink dusted across his cheekbones, and barely managed to turn his laugh into an unflattering snort at the last moment. Kana, who also seemed to have noticed, was giggling.

Maki and Torii whispered to each other, heads tilted so close that locks of their hair had tangled together into an intimate mess of black-and-blond, while Yura started in on a second piece of cake. Jirō and Kiyotsugu soon pulled Tsurara into an animated discussion about— well, about _what_ wasn’t exactly clear, but they all seemed to be invested in it. They looked like nothing more than a gaggle of friends, talking about ordinary things that didn’t involve shadows and danger and _creatures that like to smile in the night_ , and Rikuo was achingly glad of it.

Beside him, Kana was still giggling (the dark spots of worry and fear mostly gone from her eyes), and on her other side Kubinashi sipped his tea and grumbled under his breath (without even an attempt to hide the reluctant smile tugging at his cheeks). Zen’s fingers lifted briefly from Rikuo’s shoulder to brush against his forehead, checking for temperature with the sort of mindless efficiency borne of years of practice, and the bird yōkai huffed under his breath before leaning back and draping his arm over Rikuo’s shoulders. It probably looked a little weird to the others — sure, they weren’t outside, but it was still a lot of touch between two people who weren’t _involved_ — but the Nura clan had always been bigger on physical affection than verbal, and Rikuo was pretty sure most yōkai were similar.

And anyways, Zen was warm (perpetually on the edge of a fever, his body temperature always heated in an attempt to slow the poison in his blood), and the fabric of his sleeve was soft (compared to Tsurara and Kubinashi’s disguises, Zen’s ‘human’ clothing choices of a hoodie and loose jeans seemed amusingly plain), so Rikuo didn’t hesitate a second before leaning against his friend and hiding his own smile behind Kana’s chipped teacup.

It felt _nice_ , just to sit here with friends and believe — for a moment — that things were fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Another chapter!
> 
> I really hope I'm not making any of the characters *too*... idk, 'weak' or 'emotional' or smth. I promise, the road from here is going to be mostly uphill.
> 
> Next chapter will probably take a while, because we'll be back to *canon* material (and also because I'm back at school now, haha. The combination of science, history, and language is probably gonna destroy me, whoops). Please let me know if there's anything about this chapter you want me to put up a warning for!
> 
> As always, comments are gold! <3


	11. to mt. nejireme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to look up, and Rikuo thinks this trip might go alright.
> 
>  
> 
> _(He should really know better by now.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually looked up the specific shinkansen line they're probably taking in this chapter. I don't know why. But hey, research!

It was a little surreal, watching the city blurring into countryside through the bullet-train windows. Since the yōkai of the Main House didn’t often travel — the risk of confrontation and battle with other clans being just a little too perilous since the loss of the Second Commander — Rikuo had hardly ever left the Tōkyō area, and never by human transportation. He’d travelled in the moonlit cart a few times (and there was his mad dash to Zen’s main house, which had taken him from Ukiyoe into Kanagawa in under 10 minutes), but all his previous human transportation had been stuff like bikes and buses (and occasionally the subway for school trips).

Definitely never something like the Shinkansen. A part of Rikuo wished his grandfather was here to see this — to see this example of all the things humans could achieve. They’d made something that could travel from Tōkyō to Kyōto in less than three hours. While it wasn’t necessarily an incredible feat for many yōkai, the fact that it was created by the comparatively less diverse and often less physically gifted humans made it truly impressive.

Seated beside him with a thread-bound notebook and cheap brush-pen, Zen seemed distinctly less impressed with the technology. He’d fallen asleep almost the moment the train left the station, but had woken up about 20 minutes into the ride and instead started looking over his notes. Rikuo had glanced at them briefly, but since they were mostly just medicinal recipes and conjectures, he’d soon looked away.

It was still weird seeing his friend in modern, human clothing, and he’d said as much while they were waiting at the station. Zen’s finger-signed reply had made sense ( _‘Hiking in a kimono’s tough, and it would stick out. I don’t usually wear this stuff because it’s damn hard to find human clothes that aren’t made of plastic.’_ ), but it was still enough of an oddity that Rikuo occasionally found himself forgetting that it was still Zen sitting there. Maybe it was something about having forgotten that his friend’s legs existed (hey, when you always see someone wearing a kimono, it’s not too hard for your brain to come to the mistaken assumption that they actually just have, say, a long snake-tail underneath the layers instead of normal legs — totally reasonable).

Which, of course, wasn’t to say that he spent a great deal of time thinking about his various friends’ legs, or any other body parts. He didn’t. Not at all. Well, not beyond general observation, which was necessary for any decent yōkai (let alone future Commander) and definitely wouldn’t seem weird in any way if someone for some reason happened to start listening to his thoughts and noticed— _jeez_.

Rikuo groaned and turned away from the window to slump over his knees, for once grateful that his biology had granted him a little extra padding to cushion the admittedly awkward position. Originally, Tsurara had taken the window seat and Rikuo had sat on Zen’s other side (placing him beside the aisle and within easy talking distance of the rest of his classmates), but barely three minutes in she’d insisted on switching. This, of course, had lead to the inevitable challenge of switching seats without actually waking Zen up, and Rikuo had a sneaking suspicion his lack of prior Shinkansen experience had been the reason for the change (no matter what Tsurara said about wanting to ‘talk to the girls more’).

Across the aisle, someone had unearthed a few bags of candy (Rikuo suspected Maki, but Yura — with the snack supplies Kurotabō had not only dropped off but insisted on replenishing — was also a possible culprit), and Kiyotsugu was enthusiastically suggesting that they play some card games to pass the time. Of course, instead of any sort of regular card deck, this one apparently used different yōkai for the various card values — a part of Rikuo wondered where Kiyotsugu had gotten something like that, while another part really didn’t want to know.

And, as usual, they couldn’t just settle for a regular card game like poker or go fish.

“Let’s play a super-special yōkai card game to help us improve our yõkai knowledge! Come, Miss Oikawa, Miss Nura, Miss Nura’s big bro—”

“He’s not my brother, it’s just—”

“—how about you three join in as well!” Kiyotsugu grinned, barely lowering his voice when a few other passengers turned to stare at him. “We can train our minds and senses! I even believe these cards will give us insight into our true personalities — ah, which yōkai are you most like? The sly Tengu? The powerful Gyūki? Or perhaps even the slippery Nurarihyon?”

Sorely tempted to make an ill-advised comment regarding what his grandfather was _really_ like (an old geezer who, despite being _literal centuries old_ , still enjoyed playing pranks better suited for someone half his grandson’s age), Rikuo chose to instead bite his tongue and take his cues from the others’ reactions. He hoped most of them would be opposed to the idea for any number of reasons — but no, Kana looked slightly intrigued, Jirō and Yura had both leaned forward the moment he brought it up, and even Tsurara seemed to like the idea. (Yeah, watch until she got something like the Nattō-Kozu card, that would probably take the wind out of her sails).

Great, apparently they were going to spend the entire ride playing some nonsense card game instead of taking in the countryside, or reading, or— or anything else, really.

Half-listening as Kiyotsugu explained the rules (which, when you took out the admittedly well-illustrated yōkai on the card faces, pretty much seemed to just be a slight variation on Indian Poker), Rikuo pondered how to best keep all his secrets tucked away safely during the trip. Well, and how to make sure his friends didn’t get killed by yōkai that didn’t want to play nice, of course. Since he had both Zen and Tsurara, who — though young — were quite capable in their own rights, he wasn’t too worried about the latter (and if things got bad, he’d probably be able to take that mysterious ‘yōkai form’ of his). The former, however, posed slightly more trouble.

If they ran into any clan subordinates while there, he’d have to be able to think fast to keep everything under wraps. He already had small tendrils of Fear wrapping around Zen — they’d discovered, while he was sick, that the human disguises Tsurara and Kubinashi usually wore in public masked Fear well enough that Yura didn’t _seem_ to sense it, but Zen didn’t have the constitution to maintain a disguise for the entirety of the trip like Tsurara did— and as long as no-one else appeared, that would probably be enough.

As far as his _other_ secret…

Kiyotsugu had offered to let Zen have his own room, assuring them both that there was plenty of space (and, even better, a proper heating system), but after hearing the Rika’s-sick-I’m-her-doctor excuse again he’d relented with relative grace. While Kana and Jirō had muttered back and forth about it, Yura had caught Rikuo’s eye and winked. Clearly, she’d understood at least a bit of what was going on — either that, or she was just especially amused by the situation and enjoyed seeing him suffer under the renewed deluge of Kana’s questions.

Probably the latter.

“—iss Nura, would you like to play?”

Rikuo started, blinking rapidly as his thoughts dragged back to the present and his vision refocused on Kiyotsugu’s expectant expression, a card already proffered. Rather awkwardly, considering that there was an aisle and at least two seats between them.

The other boy shook the card a bit, as though that might make it more enticing, and continued, “Seeing as we do have more than enough cards for everyone to participate!”

It looked like he wasn’t getting out of this either. Rikuo took the card, careful not to look at the face as he held it up against his forehead and grimaced at the way it made his bangs flatten against his eyebrows. Ugh, maybe one day he’d be able to cut his hair a bit shorter (not a _lot_ , though — he did like the way it felt on windy days and how easy it was to tie back, after all, and hair wasn’t nearly as much of a gendered thing to yōkai anyways), and this wouldn’t be as much of an issue.

He forced himself not to giggle at the sight of the card in front of Kiyotsugu’s forehead, displayed proudly and with absolutely no clue as to what it actually held. From what he could see, it looked like Jirō might win the round, with what looked like an Ushi-Oni illustration and the number ’12’ emblazoned on two corners of the card face. Since Rikuo wasn’t particularly invested in the game, he didn’t take much note of the reactions his card got, except to narrow his eyes at Zen when his friend took one look at it and snorted in the way that clearly said he’d love to be cackling but couldn’t. (Great, maybe he got some asshole like Gagoze — wouldn’t _that_ be annoying karma).

It proved similarly difficult not to react when he caught a glimpse of Tsurara’s card — not Nattō-Kozu, sadly, but all the funnier for its irony. While the illustration wasn’t entirely clear, the extended neck indicated that it was probably Nukekubi or Rokurokubi, and the number ‘6’ seemed intentionally placed for the purpose of peak wordplay. (If Kubinashi were here to see it, he’d have a hard time not laughing as well).

Confident in his success, Kiyotsugu waited a patient minute for everyone to take stock of each others’ cards before clearing his throat. “Alright, shall we now see who wins this round? Cards down on three!” Rikuo watched his friends tense, fingers tightening on their cards in preparation. “One— two— _three!_ ”

The reactions around the group were each more amusing than the last. From Tsurara narrowing her eyes at Yura, who was sighing quietly over her ’9’ Yuki-Onna, to Kiyotsugu bemoaning his ‘1’ Nattō-Kozu (Rikuo felt a little flame of vindictive pleasure curl in his stomach) — well, okay, maybe it was a _little_ more interesting than the scenery. Seated beside Jirō, Kana seemed to be examining the illustration on her card (‘3’ , showing something like a Nekomata with oddly familiar markings) with no small degree of suspicion. Torii (who also had a ’12’, this one illustrated with what looked like Aogibi) and Maki (‘8’, displaying a yōkai that appeared disconcertingly similar to a much larger Karasu-Tengu) were peering around the table to take in the full display of values. Beside him, Zen tossed his ‘5’card (emblazoned with what seemed to be a skull with snakes emerging from the eye sockets) idly back towards the deck before nudging Rikuo’s shoulder to point at the card he had placed down with a smirk.

_Of course. That was just his luck, wasn’t it?_

“Well, it looks like Miss Nura takes the first round! What extraordinary luck, drawing Nurarihyon himself!” Kiyotsugu enthused, quickly snatching all the cards back up and reshuffling the deck with almost excessive energy. “I see we’ll have to keep an eye on you! But let us play further — ensure that these cards are giving us the truest answers!”

‘ _He just doesn’t want to be a Nattō-Kozu._ ’

Rikuo elbowed Zen in the arm. ‘ _Hey, Nattō-Kozu isn’t that bad! Just small. And annoying. And a little smelly._ ’

‘ _A_ lot _smelly._ ’ Tsurara added, wrinkling her nose as Kiyotsugu dealt out another hand of cards.

‘ _But he’s pretty loyal, don’t you think?_ ’

She stuck out her tongue. ‘ _Well, I_ guess _. Still, I don’t know if Kiyotsugu even has that going for him._ ’

“Oh, you’re signing again!” Jirō leaned forward, a new card (‘7’, Inugami — which really just looked like a very large dog, if you asked Rikuo) already held against his forehead. “What’re you talking about?”

Before Rikuo could intervene, Tsurara giggled in a way that clearly meant trouble. “Oh, Rika was just saying that even Nattō-Kozu’s probably good for _something!_ And I was saying that it probably smells really bad, so who cares?” Which… wasn’t entirely a lie, and left Rikuo wondering just _when_ his attendant had learned how to mislead like that (‘that’, in this case, meaning effortlessly and with a grin). She had been spending some time with Kejōrō recently, so that might have been it.

By the far window, Kiyotsugu beamed. “I appreciate your support, Miss Nura! Now, let us begin the next round—”

And so it went.

Someone, Rikuo bemoaned internally as he once again took in face of the card he’d put down, seemed to really enjoy torturing him. There was only so far the excuse of ‘luck’ could go, and getting the same Nurarihyon card ten out of the fifteen times they’d played _had_ to be past that limit. Zen, handing Kiyotsugu his Aogibi card (the sixth time he’d gotten it), had stopped bothering to contain his snickered amusement a good five rounds ago. By the aisle, Tsurara seemed similarly entertained by his misfortune (lucky her — she’d only gotten the Yuki-Onna card three times, so clearly no deity was laughing at _her_ today).

“Seriously, Rika, you’ve gotta have the best luck in the Kantō region! I didn’t even get Nurarihyon _once_.” Jirō grinned across the aisle at him, expression open in a way that indicated playfulness more than anything else. He seemed ready to say something else (likely a comment on Kiyotsugu’s comparatively rotten luck, judging by the way his eyes flickered towards his drooping friend and back), but was interrupted by a startlingly loud growl from his midsection. “Oh, uh— sorry ‘bout that. Missed breakfast on the way over.”

Beside him, Kana hummed thoughtfully. “You know, it is about lunchtime, now that I think about it. Isn’t there a food cart that comes by?”

“Is it expensive? I don’t have much money…” Yura frowned at her bag, cheeks puffing out in frustration.

Here — this was something Rikuo could do. An easy escape back to some semblance of normalcy. “It’s fine, I can treat everyone! Since Kiyotsugu already bought us the tickets, and everything— Zen, seriously.” He turned to huff at his friend in exasperation, tugging his arm away from Zen’s loose (and probably subconscious) grip. “I’m practically recovered, it’s not like I’m going to pass out walking down the train aisle and back. Besides, I haven’t done the lunch run in almost two _weeks_ , it’s only fair!”

Before the older yōkai could protest (likely with something intentionally embarrassing, going by the familiar gleam in his eyes), Tsurara jumped up as well. “I’ll go too! My legs are getting stiff, sitting for so long!”

“Can I join you?” To his surprise, Torii pushed herself out of her seat with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid my feet have fallen asleep, so I should walk around a bit anyways.” Glancing around at their gathered group, she added, “Besides, you’ll need a lot of help to carry back enough food for this group— especially Saori’s endless pit of a stomach.”

Ignoring Maki’s enraged retort, Rikuo chuckled as they carefully escaped into the aisle. “Jirō’s too. I still can’t believe they managed to eat that much cake on Thursday — I thought the poor waitress was going to cry when they kept ordering!”

“To be fair, it was really good cake.” Tsurara added, fidgeting with the ends of her scarf (today’s was a gauzy mint-green with blue flowers embroidered along the edges). “Even my mom didn’t complain about it when we brought her a piece!”

Torii tilted her head to the side, a puzzled expression on her face. “I thought the cake you two brought back was for Nura’s family?”

“Tsurara and her mother basically live with us.” It was an easy explanation, considering that it was actually entirely true (and had been used before). “So they count.”

He wasn’t prepared for the brilliant grin that stretched across his classmate’s cheeks. “So Oikawa’s like your big sis, then! And Ayatori and the other—”

“Zen.”

“—are like big bros! I’m a little jealous, really.” She sighed, glancing around the compartment in search of the awaited food cart. “I’m an only child, you know, so it’s just me and my dad and Granny.”

“What about your mom?”

Rikuo winced at Tsurara’s (rather tactless) question, but Torii seemed to take it all in stride. “She died when I was really young, so I don’t remember much about her. And it’s not like I mind it just being me and Dad most of the time!” She waved a hand, eyes crinkling warmly. “Before I met Saori, though, I used to get quite lonely as a kid — Dad has to work most of the time, so I was home alone often.”

It was a familiar story — not one that Rikuo had experienced, but one he’d heard from Kana. They’d spent a fair number of 'playdates' at parks when they were very young, supervised by Wakana or one of the executives in disguise, while her parents were out working late nights and weekends. At the time, he’d thought it was awfully irresponsible of those humans to leave their kid all alone so often — especially when the yōkai, despite their various flaws (and even then he’d known better than to entirely deny the existence of such), always made time to keep him company or play games when he wanted — but as he’d grown, it had become clearer that it wasn’t any fault of their own that caused the situation. Just flawed systems, which were all too easy to find regardless of species or era.

His expression must have fallen, because Torii was quick to continue. “But it’s all okay now! I spend a lot of time over at Saori’s house— her brother’s a bit odd, but her parents are really nice and they live near a park, so it’s much better.”

“Oh, there’s the cart!”

Tsurara’s interruption broke the melancholy mood nicely, and Rikuo restrained the urge to laugh as she bounced happily before hurrying down the aisle. It was always heartwarming, to see the way his yōkai friends reacted to the human world. There were so many things about this life that weren’t _bad_ , or _inferior_ — in many ways, humanity was wondrous and delightful. (Now, if only people like his grandfather could understand that…)

Beside him, Torii sighed in amusement. “I know she said she’d never been on a Shinkansen before, but… it’s pretty cute, no matter how you look at it, huh?”

“Yeah, until she remembers that I’m the one with the money.”

 

* * *

 

About thirty minutes (and approximately half a million brambles and tangled branches) into their search for Umewakamaru’s Shrine, Rikuo had resigned himself to a weekend of brutalized calves and blisters the size of Shikoku Island. He’d assumed (naively, his subconscious now whispered) that they’d be climbing along the human-made paths up the mountain, which would have been tiring but far less precarious. It would have made perfect sense — his friends were all human kids, after all, and why in the name of any god or demon would they want to bushwhack through a forest up a mountain they knew to be yōkai territory?

But no, apparently they were taking the scenic route up. (Somehow, he should have expected this — it was _Kiyotsugu_ , after all).

A stray branch from another creeping bush caught and scraped across his bare shin, and Rikuo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing it out. Zen’s snort of laughter from behind him only made it more difficult, and he flicked an aggravated ‘ _thanks, asshole_ ’ at his friend with the hand the wasn’t pushing low-hanging leaves out of the way.

“Hey, don’t blame me for your bad decisions, dumbass. You don’t see your friends complaining, do you?”

Some feet ahead of them, Maki chose that moment to snap loudly at an exposed root that apparently had nearly tripped her, an awkward collision with Torii’s back having saved her from a messy face-plant. Rikuo took the opportunity to turn back and shoot his friend what he hoped was a distinctly unimpressed look. A few feet behind Zen, both Yura and Jirō seemed to be more amused than anything by their classmates’ predicaments.

Zen’s expression betrayed a little strain — if they didn’t find the shrine soon, Rikuo would make Kiyotsugu stop so they could rest — but it did nothing to diminish his smirk. He remained silent for another few minutes of tenacious trekking, before commenting, “You kids these days, you don’t get out enough. Not wearing shorts on a hike, it’s just common sense.”

“ _Wha—_ jeez, you’re gonna make everyone think you’re middle-aged if you keep talking like some old uncle!” Halfheartedly smacking another branch out of his face, Rikuo groaned and resisted the urge to grab a clump of dirt off of his shoes and lob it at the older yōkai. “It’s not my fault I only own one pair of decent pants! I was saving them for the days I _expected_ to be fighting tree roots!” He paused briefly to narrow his eyes at his friend, who seemed entirely unapologetic. “Besides, we can’t _all_ live practically on mountains.”

Something in Zen’s expression shifted, too quickly for Rikuo to make out, and he shrugged casually. “Visit more often, you’ll learn quickly.”

“So you live on a mountain too, Big Bro?” Jirō piped up, looking hardly fazed by the hike as he peered through the mist at the surrounding trees. The mountain was relatively old, though the yōkai who made it his home probably outdated most everything else that lived there, and seemed entirely shrouded in mist and low-hanging clouds. It had only gotten thicker they higher they climbed, and made everyone’s voices sound oddly muted.

Though Rikuo couldn’t see his friend’s face, having returned his attention to the path ahead, Zen’s tone sounded amusingly close to exasperated. “Oi, since when did I become _‘Big Bro’_ to you? Rika, if your duckling friends start imprinting on me, I’m blaming you!”

“Stop acting like a mother hen if you don’t want chicks, then!”

Beside him, Tsurara giggled and hoisted her backpack (thankfully not filled with ice, though it had been a narrow call) a little higher on her shoulders. Rikuo was grateful for the mist, for her sake — with the cooler temperatures as they climbed and the ever-present visual obstruction, nobody would notice the way her breaths created white clouds of condensation with every exhale. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

When Zen huffed sourly at her, the giggles turned into something that would be much more accurately described as snickering, and Tsurara didn’t even attempt to hide her delight. “You really are like a mother hen — you and Shirō both, just awful!” When Kana, a few steps ahead, glanced back with clear curiosity in her gaze, Tsurara winked up at her. “You know, those two wouldn’t leave Rika alone for a _minute_ while she was sick? Miss Wakana could barely get a turn at the bedside — honestly, putting a mom out of her own job!”

Without looking back, Rikuo signed rapidly at his friends. ‘ _Don’t say anything else about that. The stuff I dreamed is my business, not theirs._ ’ It was bad enough that Kana had caught a glimpse of it (and the expression on her face when he managed to meet her eyes indicated that she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up — wow, it really must have been unpleasant to watch), and Rikuo didn’t like the thought of anyone else knowing about what had happened. He knew Zen and Kubinashi had figured out what his fever dreams contained, and it was fairly certain that his mother and Setsura did as well. And that— well, he would have been happier if _no-one_ had known, frankly.

His traumas and fears were supposed to be _private_ , damn it.

Thankfully, Zen seemed to get the message, because he just exhaled forcefully and remained silent. Tsurara opened her mouth to continue, but Kana ( _what had he done_ , to deserve a friend like her) caught her eye and shook her head resolutely. Ahead of them, Maki and Kiyotsugu seemed to be arguing about something, while Torii attempted to play the mediator. Their voices were dulled by the mist, but enough carried through that it was clear the argument — if it could be called that, really — was more about the supposed hot springs at the vacation home than anything important.

Rikuo just tried to focus on keeping his limbs moving. Something in his stomach (or maybe his intestines— _urgh,_ he really hoped not) had been feeling sore and achey for most of the trek, and he was crossing his fingers that it was just a bit of indigestion. Or stress — that would make sense, he was almost always stressed about something. And the chilly humidity of the mountain air had to be what kept making the back of his neck flare hot and cool in a rather unpleasant way. Probably some lingering fever chills creeping in there, as well.

The hike was beginning to really make his legs sore, as well, and he fell back a few steps to walk beside Zen, leaving Tsurara to strike up a conversation with Kana that sounded suspiciously like they were discussing him. Never a good sign, when Tsurara was concerned — she enjoyed poking fun at him far too much. Let it never be said that she was disrespectful — the absolute opposite — but her respect seemed to have been tempered over long exposure into something a bit more casual. (Rikuo wasn’t sure whether or not to feel grateful for that).

Now just a half-step behind him, Zen’s breathing was beginning to sound audibly strained, though Rikuo doubted any of the others could have picked up on it. Absently pressing one palm against his stomach (as though that would stop it from bothering him), he glanced sideways at the older yōkai. “Hey, do you need to take a break? I’m sure Kiyotsugu would stop if we asked.”

“Nah, I’m fine, just a little winded. Always happens when I go out to harvest stuff.” Zen cast a wry eye over Rikuo’s own posture. “You’re the one who looks like he needs a break. Stitch in your side?”

“Bit of a stomachache, actually.” Rikuo grimaced, elbowing more underbrush out of the way. “I think it’s the stress, since I haven’t eaten anything _that_ unusual recently.”

“Sure it’s not cramps?”

He made a face, wincing when his inattention nearly caused him to miss an offending tree root. “Same difference, isn’t it? Stomachache and stomach cramps — aren’t those basically the same thing?” To be fair, Rikuo wasn’t anything close to a doctor (learning basic herbal medicine from Zen didn’t count), so he hadn’t put a lot of thought into it. Short and sweet did it, or something along those lines. His attention was more focused on not tripping, if he were being honest.

Zen’s exasperated huff was entirely unsurprising, but he was cut off before he could respond with what would doubtlessly be a miniature lecture on health and the importance of accurately identifying symptoms (Rikuo had gotten many of them as a kid) by a call from behind them.

“Hey, what’s that?”

At the back of the group, Yura had stopped walking and was pointing towards what looked like an odd rock formation mostly obscured by the mist. Her voice, pitched loud enough to carry to the rest of the group, didn’t sound half as curious as her words indicated. “It looks like a shrine— you know, the kind that houses a Jizō?”

As Kiyotsugu and the others stumbled back down the slope to join her, talking over one another as they tried to make out the shape she was describing, Rikuo peered closer at it. He let a small thread of Fear seep out as he narrowed his eyes, and his vision rapidly cleared and came into focus. The shrine — which it indeed was — seemed to be small and fairly old-looking, with a stone Buddha inside and a rather large rock beside it. A few more seconds of focusing, and the kanji carved into the rock made themselves clear even as Yura climbed through the brush for a better look.

“Let’s see, it looks like—”

“ _‘Umewakamaru’_.” She glanced back at him, eyebrows raised, and he repeated himself before adding, “That’s what it says, I mean.”

After a few moments she nodded and continued her way until she was standing right beside the shrine. After a quick examination, she turned back to Kiyotsugu and confirmed Rikuo’s statement. “Nura’s right. It does say Umewakamaru. Isn’t that the shrine we’re looking for?”

Beaming, Kiyotsugu began making his way down to join her, with the rest of the group on his heels. “Indeed it is, Miss Keikain! Well done, well done, as expected of our resident onmyōji!” Finally stumbling into the small clearing that surrounded the shrine, he patted Yura enthusiastically on the back (much to her apparently confusion). As Rikuo slowly made his way down as well, Kiyotsugu turned to flash him a thumbs-up as well. “And to Miss Nura, for identifying the sign! Nicely spotted!”

Rikuo paused, caught off guard. It wasn’t that he was unused to people complimenting him for things — he’d made a long-term effort to be a good person in the human world, so hearing people say he was nice or helpful was pretty common — but it somehow felt strange for that sort of thing to come from _Kiyotsugu_. Still, they were friends (to a degree), and Kiyotsugu did seem to have a habit of tossing out that sort of exuberant praise whenever it suited him. It really shouldn’t have been such a surprise, and yet—

Well, at least it was sort of nice.

Nice enough that when he refocused on his surroundings (instead of the nebulous place in his mind that was just a little bit baffled by _Kiyotsugu complimenting him_ ), the group had suddenly gained an additional member without him noticing.

Rikuo blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things (it had happened a few times before — living with yōkai did tend to make a mess of one’s senses on occasion) and, once he was sure that the short man speaking to Kiyotsugu wasn’t some sort of apparition, signed a quick inquiry to Tsurara.

_‘Is that the professor Kiyotsugu spoke to?’_

_‘It is.’_ The Yuki Onna’s response was quick, and she darted close to his side and eyed the professor warily as he ambled towards Yura and the other girls with an unpleasant-looking smile. _‘He introduced himself as Professor Adashibara, so I guess he’s the real deal as far as humans go.’_ Glancing sideways at Rikuo, Tsurara huffed and slid ever-so-slightly in front of him as the professor gestured for the group to take a seat on the rocks around the shrine. _‘Seems kinda gross, even for a human. This Umewakamaru they’re talking about, do you know who it is?’_

They found seats together while Rikuo thought, Tsurara on his left (as always) and Zen on the ground with his back against a tree. One ear focused on the professor’s story, he slowly responded, _‘Well, since it’s Mt. Nejireme, I’d guess it was Gyūki. Since this is the seat of his territory, and he’s pretty old.’_ He gestured as subtly as he could towards the shrine. _‘That shrine doesn’t look a thousand years old, but I don’t think he’d allow a shrine to another yōkai on his mountain. Umewakamaru doesn’t really sound like the name of a land spirit either.’_

_‘No, it doesn’t.’_

Rikuo pursed his lips and turned the rest of his attention to the professor’s story. It sounded… sad, perhaps, would be the word he’d use. He hadn’t realized that Gyūki, like Kubinashi and Kejōrō, had been a human before becoming a yōkai. How many other yōkai in the clan, or in the affiliated sects, were the same? And if even a yōkai like _Gyūki_ could have been born a human, why didn’t more yōkai even try to understand humanity? Maybe once the trip was over, he’d seek out Gyūki and talk to him — it couldn’t hurt to get to know some of the board members better, and Gyūki seemed like the sort who might tolerate questions if they were sensible and thoughtful.

(Which meant he’d have to think of some sensible and thoughtful questions beforehand, of course. Just like homework, but self-imposed and somehow even more stressful).

“—not scary at all, though.” Torii was saying as he refocused on the rest of the group, waving one of her hands airily as though indicating something light and inconsequential. Beside her, Maki nodded in agreement. The rest of the group seemed to be displaying similar sentiments (save Kana, already a bit afraid of yōkai just by the nature of their being — Rikuo would never stop being amazed by how brave she was to still be here — and Yura, who knew better than to take these sorts of things lightly).

The professor (Rikuo had already forgotten his name — Adasa-something, maybe) got to his feet, grin still firmly in place, and gestured further into the forest. “If you don’t believe me, come and let me show you something else.”

Rikuo hung back, helping Zen to his feet while the rest of the group started along the path, and barely bit back an exclamation of surprise when Kana did the same. Her face looked a little pale, but she met his eyes with a brief smile before hurrying after the others.

“Honestly, I’m not that sick yet.” Zen griped, walking ahead of Rikuo through the slightly (and blessedly) thinner underbrush. “ _Need a hand—_ no, I damn well don’t need a hand. I ain’t no invalid!”

“It was nice of her, though.” The ache in Rikuo’s stomach pulsed uncomfortably and he winced, pressing one hand to it as he kept his eyes focused on the line of people ahead of him. “And it’s not like she knows why you’re sick — all we said was that it’s terminal, remember? There’s lots of types of terminal illness, and she doesn’t know how far along yours is either.”

A disgruntled ‘hmph’ told him that Zen couldn’t think of an argument against that, and he chuckled under his breath. They climbed in silence for a few minutes, careful not to touch any of the trees wrapped with shimenawa (There was some overlap between Shintō beliefs and yōkai culture, true, but it would be risky for a yōkai to come into contact with any object sacred to the religion). The forest, and the mountain, seemed to stretch on forever. Although he considered himself fairly athletic, especially for his age, Rikuo’s legs were aching and his back was starting to cramp up almost as badly as his stomach.

Attempting to fill the silence, he turned to Zen. “Hey, did _you_ know Gyūki was originally human?”

“You already figured out it’s Gyūki?”

“What?” Oh, that was right, Zen hadn’t seen the conversation he and Tsurara had. “Well, it makes the most sense, doesn’t it? I guess I just hadn’t expected it, since he’s always so serious and— y’know, properly yōkai-like.” Was he digging himself into a hole? “I mean, not to imply that yōkai born as humans are less proper than yōkai like you and Tsurara. I just— since Kubinashi and Kejōrō are so—”

Zen laughed, a short bark that didn’t really contain any bite. “Relax, Rikuo. I know what you mean. And nah, I didn’t know before, but it’s not like we really go telling each other personal secrets between board meetings.” His expression flattened, and he stared up the path with his lips pressed into a thin line. “But being here, on Nejireme… keep your guard up, Rikuo. Just because it’s technically Nura territory, doesn’t mean you’re safe here.”

“Huh? Zen, what do you—” Before Rikuo could finish his question, the ache in his stomach flared again, hot and sharp, and the sentence broke off into a poorly stifled groan. He clenched his jaw, trying to block out the pain, as the hand pressed against his stomach tensed reflexively into a claw. Why did his body decide to have the worst possible timing to start acting up? (Okay, maybe not the _absolute_ worst — he’d probably have to be mid-battle for that).

Behind him, Tsurara placed a cool hand on his lower back, and the chill seemed to seep through his body and ease the soreness of his muscles for a moment. “Are you sure you’re alright, Master Rikuo?” Her voice was quiet, low enough that human ears wouldn’t hear, and concerned. “Do you need me to ice something?”

“No, it’s just my stomach bothering me.”

Zen snorted. “Right, yeah, about that— which part of your stomach?”

Caught off guard, Rikuo only barely managed to not trip over the uneven ground in front of him. “What? Why does that matter?”

“Because I’m a doctor?” Shooting him a sideways glance, Zen raised one eyebrow wryly. “And knowing more about the situation might make it easier for me to figure out what’s up? Can’t necessarily do an exact diagnosis on second-hand information alone, but it’ll help narrow down the causes.”

Somehow, no matter how much he’d proved it recently, it felt like Rikuo kept forgetting that Zen being a doctor meant more than just ‘he can make medicine’. Of course he would know how to analyze symptoms and put together diagnoses. For all that yōkai were varied and strange, they seemed to fall ill far less often than humans, so it was very easy to forget the wide scope of skills included in the job description. “Oh, uh, right. Um, it’s kind of—“

As the group came to a stop, Zen held up a hand to stop him before signing, ‘ _Tell me this way. I want to listen to what that professor is saying.’_

 _‘Oh.’_ Apparently, they’d stopped because one of the others had asked a question, and the professor had responded by duly scaring the living daylights out of them. Granted, Rikuo hadn’t quite realized Gyūki could be as destructive as the gigantic claw marks indicated, but it wasn’t any less than he would have expected from a yōkai nearly a thousand years old. One ear listening to the professor’s speech, he focused the rest of his attention on the still-present (and slowly worsening) ache in his midsection. _‘It’s sort of tight and achey. Hurts more now than it did when it started, and it’s been making me a little nauseous.’_

_‘What part hurts?’_

_‘Below my bellybutton, sort of the same level as my hips.’_ As he signed, Rikuo paused and glanced down at the hand he’d been keeping pressed to his stomach. _‘Fuck.’_

Zen snorted quietly, more of a forceful exhale than an audible response. _‘Hey, language. You think you know what’s up?’_

He really hoped he didn’t, but he wouldn’t for sure until they got up to the vacation home. While he usually did a pretty good job of tracking his cycle, the past few weeks had been so messy that he must have lost it. Rikuo tried to remember if he’d put any pads in his bag while he was packing. Probably not, if his luck (or lack thereof) was consistent.  _‘I think it’s menstrual cramps. Just my luck, right? And what do you mean, language? You curse worse than I do, asshole.’_

His friend blinked a few times before barely managing to stifle a laugh. _‘Forgot you could get those. Most yōkai don’t.’_

 _‘Get cramps? Or have periods?’_ There wasn’t exactly a proper finger-sign for menstruation or periods, but Rikuo was pretty sure his point was getting across. He and Zen had done so before with other concepts that didn’t exactly have common finger-sign equivalents (Kubinashi still liked to complain about their occasionally indecipherable conversations, even though he himself was just as guilty of learning and readapting the language when necessary). 'Internet' had been a fun one to explain to the older yōkai.

 _‘Both. I’m not an expert since it hasn’t come up in my time, but I’m pretty sure yōkai bodies just reabsorb unused gametes instead of expelling them like humans.’_ Zen shrugged, sighing aloud as the group started hiking again. _‘More efficient, if you ask me, and less messy.’_

Jogging up a few steps so she could walk beside him, Tsurara cocked her head to the side. _‘What are periods, again?’_

Unsure of whether she meant the sign they were using, or the concept itself, Rikuo explained carefully, _‘Humans with bodies like mine spend about one week every month with the inner lining of their uterus dissolving and bleeding out of. Um. Well, the only opening available, really.’_ When she made an appalled face at him, he laughed (and then winced, because it made the pain sharpen abruptly in an entirely unpleasant way). _‘And it isn’t possible to control the bleeding, so we need to use things to absorb it, or else it will get everywhere.’_

_‘But why are you in pain, then?’_

This time, Zen answered, signing a bit further out than usual so Tsurara could see his hands while they walked. _‘Because the uterus is expelling the dissolved tissue, it sometimes cramps up. Sort of like a mild version of the contractions that occur during labor.’_

She made a face. _‘That’s no fair! I’m sorry, Master Rikuo. What can I do to help?’_

 _‘Not much, sorry.’_ He winced, pausing in his signs to grit his teeth against the pain. _‘Since it’s an issue of muscle tension, heat is more helpful than cold. Zen, do you have anything that would work as a painkiller?’_

_‘I might. Have to wait until we reach your friend’s house to look and see, though.’_

“Um, Rika?”

Rikuo started, the use of his not-quite-dead-name catching him off-guard and entirely disrupting the sign his free hand had been forming. “ _Shi—_ um, sorry, sorry.” He shook his head in apology at Kana, who seemed a bit surprised as well by his reaction. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“What?” Confusion crossed her face briefly, before understanding dawned and she waved a hand in dismissal. “No, no, I’m fine! I mean, it is getting dark, and that story was awfully frightening— but Kiyotsugu says we’re almost at the villa, so that’s reassuring.” Meeting his eyes with a concerned gaze, she continued, “No, it’s just— you’ve been signing a lot, and it looks like you’re in pain, so I was wondering if everything was okay.”

Of course Kana had noticed. They’d stopped being subtle when they’d continued having a conversation entirely in sign, and Rikuo was just glad she didn’t seem upset to be left out of the loop. A few steps ahead of her, Yura had also glanced over her shoulder at the group, less concerned and more curious. He’d have to do better next time. “No, I’m fine, it’s just—” Talking about it to Zen was one thing, but talking out loud seemed so much more embarrassing. He lowered his voice slightly, cupping a hand around his mouth to help the whisper carry. “Menstrual cramps, so I was asking if he had any painkillers. I lost track of the timing, since I was sick, so I’m not sure I have any pads either.”

“Oh!” Kana nodded sympathetically, dropping back slightly to an easier talking distance. “I don’t have any pads, but I always make sure to bring tampons with me when I travel — one time, I got caught off guard at a friend’s house, and it was the most embarrassing day of my life. If those are okay, you can definitely use them.” Ahead of them, Kiyotsugu was pointing out the now-visible shape of the villa, and Maki and Torii’s cries of delight were more than enough to obscure the rest of the conversation. “I don’t have any painkillers, though— I don’t really get cramps.” She made a face. “Mood swings, though, I get plenty of.”

Rikuo could have hugged his friend (could have, had he not been in pain and out of breath). “Kana, you’re a _lifesaver_. What do I owe you? Another cake outing? My firstborn child?”

That managed to startle a laugh out of her. “What, you mean the child you keep saying you don’t want to have? Hardly sounds like a fair deal, you know.”

“Well, what else do you want me to offer?”

Kana huffed. “Don’t be silly, I’m not going to ask you for a favor in exchange for tampons while we’re _up a mountain._ ” Pausing, she tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully. “It was awfully nice to see Miss Wakana again, though. Maybe if you have time, we should hang out like that again sometime soon.”

Considering for a moment, she added, “But not with the entire club. I know Kiyotsugu means well, but he’s…”

“A bit much?” Rikuo completed wryly, listening to his classmate loudly announcing the history of the villa to the group as they entered the building (having apparently parted ways with the professor while he was distracted — so much for paying better attention). Beside him, Zen was looking out at the forest warily, but— well, there shouldn’t be too much to worry about? As long as he and the others kept an eye on his human friends and made sure not to cause trouble, Gyūki and his clan shouldn’t have much reason to interfere. He’d even made sure to send a missive to Gyūki beforehand, with properly formal language and a promise of not causing a disturbance.

Beside him, Kana giggled. “ _Exactly._ Now, what say Big Bro—”

“Is that what they’re _all_ calling me now?”

“—figures out some pain management for those cramps, and you and I go see if we can find the fancy bathroom in this place?”

“Yes, _please._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeez. It's been a while since the last update, I'm really sorry. Winter quarter was really tough, and I meant to get this posted over Spring Break but...
> 
> I'm not super pleased with how this chapter turned out? I feel like the character discussions went unnecessary directions (even though they're tying together later on), and I'm just not really certain how I feel about it overall.
> 
> Still, I don't really have any better plans for how to fix it, and I do have enough plot stuff that it'll tie in fairly smoothly, so here it is. It's not going to do me any good sitting around in my fic folder like this, anyways.
> 
> Next chapter is in progress, and I hope to get it done within the term (as well as the chapter after — Mt. Nejireme/the Gyūki arc should only take three chapters including this one, and maybe a fourth to wrap things up). Please let me know what you think, and if there's anything you'd recommend fixing! :) Comments and feedback always make me very happy.
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> **Edit: I just realized I kept referring to Shima by last name in the first half, even though Rikuo's narration's been calling him Jirō since chapter 2. It has now (hopefully) been fixed, much to the chagrin of awake-at-quarter-past-midnight me.**
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> **Edit: Made a few adjustments to phrasing. One to keep the structure of Kana & Rikuo's childhood friendship more consistent with previously established statements, one to adjust the phrasing re: yōkai and shintoism, since that was pointed out in a comment. ^^**


	12. on the mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As with most times in Rikuo's life, the trip seems like it's going fine right up until it's not._
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>  
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> _Meanwhile, others make their plans._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning: There is a -very- brief reference to the Kyuūso incident, which I know can be Not Great for some people, during Kana & Yura's conversation. Only a paragraph or so, so it's really easy to skip over. **
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> **Next chapter will also probably be a bit violent, in the canon-typical way, as it will include Rikuo's fights w/ Gozu and Gyūki, and the girls' fight with Mezu. Let me know if you want me to put a warning in for that as well!**

_“My lord, they’ve arrived on the mountain, just as that girl’s letter said.”_

_“Thank you, Gozumaru.”_

_“There is one thing you should know—“_

_“Yes? What is it?”_

_“Mezumaru says someone else came along. Someone_ inconvenient. _”_

_“… Who?”_

* * *

 

“I know, it feels a little weird the first time, doesn’t it?”

Making a face at his friend, Rikuo tried to remember that he’d soon forget just how discomforting this was. Zen hadn’t had anything ingestible on hand, but had taken it upon himself to find some ordinary over-the-counter painkillers in second bathroom’s medicine cabinet. The single pill he’d given Rikuo hadn’t kicked in yet, but knowing that the bleeding was at least under control did help.

He shot a side-eye at Kana, who hadn’t quite managed to disguise her amusement at the predicament. “It’s just— y’know, kinda disturbing to think about?” Perhaps that was just his dysphoria speaking, though. Bad enough to have body parts that felt misshapen and out of place, but at least most of the time he could just sort of tune them out. (At least, that was the ideal, despite how often his mind seemed unable to actually follow that aim). But like this, with the biology he didn’t want to have acting in a way that forced him to remember it?

Not fun.

She hummed in sympathy. “I was a little self-conscious the first few times, but you really do get used to it, and they’re very discreet. Promise, no-one’s going to notice.”

“Well, _I_ will.”

That earned him a laugh, and she patted his shoulder reassuringly. “As long as you’ve got it in right, you shouldn’t feel a thing. Just remember to change it out every four or so hours— I mean, it’s okay if you leave it in longer as long as it’s less than eight.” Kana huffed, crossing her arms as they descended the stairs to rejoin the rest of the group at the bottom of the stairs. “Pads are definitely better for overnight, but we’ll make do. Maybe I should start carrying some of those as well.”

“I probably should start making sure to carry some in general, really.” Thankfully, the pain of his cramps wasn’t quite so bad that Rikuo couldn’t speak (not to say it had ever gotten that bad yet, but then again he hadn’t gotten cramps _at all_ until earlier this year, so there was always room for surprises), and he even managed a laugh. “Never know when I’m going to be caught off-guard, halfway up a mountain, after all.”

They reached the ground floor just as Torii and Maki disappeared towards the hot springs, tugging Yura along with them. Waving a greeting, Kiyotsugu beckoned them over to where he and Shima were standing by the door. “Miss Nura, Miss Ienaga, I am glad you’ve returned! Would you like to join the other girls in the hot springs?”

Well, at the very least, being on his cycle was good for _something_. “I, um can’t at the moment. It’s, um— it’s a health thing?”

“Naturally!” Rikuo’s surprise must have been visible, because Kiyotsugu grinned and leaned forward to pat him a little too enthusiastically on the back. “Since you are still recovering, we wouldn’t want you to risk overheating in there! And what about you, Miss Ienaga? Oh, Miss Oikawa too!”

Tsurara, hurrying down the stairs to rejoin the group with Zen behind her (both having divested themselves of their bags in the room they’d all staked out together), shook her head emphatically. “I can’t go in hot springs, sorry! It’s a medical thing for me as well— I overheat too easily.” _‘Are you doing alright, Master Rikuo?’_

_‘I don’t like it, but it’s better than bleeding all over my clothes.’_

While they signed, Kana pursed her lips and glanced between the group and the hot springs. “Well, we’ll be here a few days, right? I might stay out tonight, to keep Rika com—”

“You don’t have to do that!” Hurrying to shake his head, Rikuo shot his friend a lot that he hoped could convey his gratefulness. “I really appreciate it, but it’s not like you get lots of chances to do this. Don’t hold yourself back on my account!” Glancing to the side, he added, “Besides, I’ll have Tsurara and Zen for company, at least.” When she still seemed hesitant, he forced himself to smile warmly. “Really, it’s alright, Kana. And if you’re worried about yōkai, Yura’ll be there too, so that’s probably the safest place to be.”

She huffed at him. “If you need anything and I’m not out yet, I’ll leave my bag in mine and Yura’s room for you.”

“I’ll make sure not to read your diary when I go through it.”

“Wha— _hey,_ ” Smacking his arm gently, Kana couldn’t help but smile. “I do _not_ have a diary, Rika, and you know it.”

He ducked out of the way of her second swat, unable to stop himself from laughing. “But where else are you writing down all of your plans for world domination?”

She rolled her eyes, already turning away towards the stairs and calling over her shoulder as she did so. “On the back of Jirō’s homework, of course!”

“What? Hey!”

Kiyotsugu laughed as Jirō protested, patting the shorter boy on the head as though calming down an especially excitable dog. “Worry not, Shima! Now that those girls have gone, we move on to our first nighttime yōkai hunt!” When four sets of surprised eyes turned to him with varying levels of dismay, he grinned deviously and waved a finger at them. “Surely, none of you forgot the _primary objective_ of our trip, right? We are here to research yōkai, and what better way to do that than gather evidence in the field! Therefore, as nighttime is the time when most yōkai are active, we must venture out into the night in order to find them!”

From where he stood, Rikuo could see Zen — who had taken up a position standing just behind Kiyotsugu and Shima, slightly out of view — drop his face into one hand in exasperation.

Said exasperation quickly turned to humor, however, when Kiyotsugu continued. “Besides, if dangerous yōkai wander at night like Professor Adashibara said, then I’m sure we’ll be able to find _him_ here!” He clenched one fist, enthusiasm almost glowing in a halo around him. “That Lord of Pandemonium!”

Rikuo tried to will his eyes to produce laser beams as he glared at Zen, who was now clearly bare moments away from bursting into laughter, the hand covering his mouth the only thing keeping it in. _‘So help me, Zen, I will sic Kejōrō on you when we get home if you make a single sound.’_ To his chagrin, the signed threat only caused his friend to fully collapse against the nearest wall, shoulders shaking with the force of the raucous cackling that followed bare seconds after.

“She’d— she’d be laughing too, if she were here!”

“Would not! She’s got _way_ more class than you, asshole!”

“Hah! You clearly haven’t seen she and—” Barely managing to catch himself in time, Zen still managed to laugh through his entire sentence, “—and Shirō on festival nights often enough!” He snorted again, eyes glinting with mirth.

However, Rikuo noticed with mild alarm, his friend’s laughter was beginning to sound more like wheezing than anything else (and not in a funny way). Ignoring Jirō’s bemused expression (and Kiyotsugu’s faintly put-out one), he crossed the floor to rest a hand on Zen’s shoulder, alarm peaking when the older yōkai seemed more focused on breathing than responding. “Zen? Hey, maybe you should go lie down? After a hike that long—”

“Keh, and leave you kids to go wandering around at night alone?” The bird yōkai shook his head roughly, a hoarseness to his words indicating that there was probably a cough just waiting to escape. “Hell no.”

Finding his voice once more, Kiyotsugu regarded Zen thoughtfully (and, if you asked Rikuo, with more genuine gravity than the taller boy usually displayed). “You’re not going to tell us not to, Mister Big Bro?” Ignoring Zen’s exasperated sigh at the nickname, which seemed to be sticking rather stubbornly, Rikuo’s classmate continued on. “Not to say that I am disappointed! But, as you are an adult—” (Here, Tsurara tried — and failed — to turn her laugh into a cough), “—I would have expected you to be opposed to this venture!”

Zen rolled his eyes. “Not like you all would listen to me, anyways. This one,” He whacked Rikuo gently on the head, “Hasn’t listened to me since we were both still brats.” Ignoring Rikuo’s protest (he did _too_ listen to Zen! Well, at least sometimes, when it had to do with medicine), he huffed and straightened his back with a stifled groan. “Far as I’m concerned, if you’re going to go get yourselves in trouble, I may as well be there to keep an eye out.”

“Zen, you’re _sick_.”

“And I ain’t ever let that stop me from keeping you out of trouble, so I’m not about to start. Dumbass.”

Still standing nervously behind Kiyotsugu, Jirō raised a hand. “Hey, so, does that mean we’re actually doing this?”

Rikuo sighed. He’d promised, in his letter to Gyūki, that he’d make sure their group didn’t cause any trouble while on the mountain, which this venture sounded like the _exact opposite_ of. Going against that didn’t exactly sound like a fantastic plan, but— well, Kiyotsugu was going to go out regardless. Jirō was almost certainly going to follow him. The way things were looking, Rikuo’s best choice was probably going to be to go along with this mess. He’d be in a better position to keep his friends out of trouble if he stayed with them, rather than if he remained behind.

Besides, his cramps were starting to fade just a bit, and exercise sometimes helped. And if they got into trouble, he’d have at least one combat-ready aide nearby, and that elusive yōkai form of his own (possibly) in reserve. He rolled his shoulders and turned to Kiyotsugu, signing quiet instructions to Tsurara and Zen with one hand even as he spoke. “Looks like. Where to, Kiyotsugu?”

When his classmate beamed effusively, Rikuo bit his tongue and hoped he was making the right call.

 

* * *

_“You heard what?”_

_“I don’t believe it’s untrue. The district crows reported as much, and they’re no reason to make this up. My brothers have gone to tell our father as well.”_

_“Shit— shit shit_ shit _. This is not good, I’m sorry, I have to go—“_

_“What? Kubinashi, what’s the matter?”_

_“Master Rikuo’s in danger! I have to go find him—“_

_“In danger? But I thought you said he was going to that Kiyotsugu’s house for a few days—”_

_“Which is_ on Mt. Nejireme _!”_

 _“Oh—_ oh. Shit. _”_

_“Go! I’ll be close behind with my brothers— go, now!”_

* * *

 

If she were being honest, Kana was very grateful to Rika for pushing her to try out the hot springs. The water felt amazing, and it seemed like muscles she hadn’t even realized were sore were being soothed as heat seeped into them. Had she ever actually had the chance to go in a hot spring before now? Kana couldn’t remember, although whether that meant she hadn’t or just that she was so relaxed she was losing some trains of thought, it wasn’t quite clear.

_I hope Rika’s alright, though. She said she’d be okay, but…_

“ _—so_ glad we came here!” Across the spring, Maki kicked her leg into the air and watched the water droplets fly off into the steam. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really care about yōkai at all, but I really like this villa! Kiyotsugu’s so lucky, honestly. I’d follow him on any weird adventures, if it meant more stuff like this!”

“That’s so materialistic, Saori.” Torii giggled, running fingers through her hair to tease it back to looseness. “Should I be jealous?”

“No, but come on!” The blonde (Kana had never asked if it was natural or bleached, but judging by Maki’s complexion she was going to guess the latter) rolled her eyes before seeming to think of something and flapping a hand in her friend’s direction. “Hey, Natsumi, what’re the benefits of this spring supposed to be, anyways?”

From where she was sitting, Torii craned her neck back to try and see the sign, which appeared to be either carved into or embedded in one of the large stones surrounding the springs. “Mm, no good, I can’t read it through all the steam.” She made a face. “I wonder if Nura might be able to read it— she could see the name by the shrine earlier, couldn’t she? But she wears glasses—”

Kana had been wondering something similar, but— “Maybe she’s— um, which one is it, where you can see things far away better? I know there’s farsighted and nearsighted, but I can’t remember which is which.”

“Farsighted is where you can see things far away,” Seated at the edge of the spring and cautiously dipping her feet into the water, Yura spoke up with the tone of someone who’d heard the information repeated a frustrating number of times, “And nearsighted is where you can see things close up. I think farsightedness is less common, but you might be right, Ienaga.”

“Oh, just call me Kana! Really, practically everyone does.”

Across the spring, Maki took the opportunity to shoot her a grin. “Hey, does that everyone include me and Natsumi too? You can call us by our first names too, if you want.”

Crossing her arms with a huff, Kana puffed out her cheeks for a moment before laughing and leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, if we’re going on trips to hot springs together, I guess we’re probably close enough friends.”

“Hey, that reminds me— where _are_ Nura and Tsurara?”

Torii and Yura both looked curious as well, peering around the area as though they’d just realized there were two more girls not present. Kana exhaled through her nose and sank a bit lower into the spring. “I think Oi— um, Tsurara,” The memory of the older girl enthusiastically clasping her hands ( _‘Since we both have to look out for Rika together, you can call me Tsurara, okay! Say it,_ Tsu-ra-ra! _’_ ) reminded Kana to correct herself as she spoke, “said she has a medical condition? She overheats easily, so she didn’t want to risk it. And Rika’s— um.” Well, they were all girls, so it wouldn’t be that weird. “—it’s _that time of the month_ , so that’s why.”

“Ooh, that explains why she looked so nauseous earlier!” Grimacing sympathetically, Maki crossed her hands behind her head and leaned back against the rock she was sitting against. “Must’ve been pretty bad cramps— and hiking through that! I don’t envy her.”

Torii leaned forward with a mischievous expression. “Whenever Saori gets cramps, she always calls me to complain about it.”

“Yeah, but you still bring over tea and your dad’s heating pad anyways.”

Steam curled around them as they bantered, and Yura slid slowly into the water beside Kana with a shiver. “Are they really that bad? I haven’t gotten mine yet, but one of my cousins always says they hurt a lot.”

Kana shrugged. “Well, I think it depends on the person? I don’t usually get cramps at all, and Rika said she didn’t have any at first either. It’s just like with how long it lasts, or how heavy it is — everyone’s is kinda different.”

“What, _really?_ ” Eyes wide, Yura turned to stare at her incredulously. “They’re not all the same length? I'm gonna _kill_ Ryū— uh, my cousin, she said they always last an entire week.”

Ignoring her friend’s stammer (probably just someone she didn’t want to identify by name), Kana sighed and sank a little further into the spring. “Yeah, well, if you’re unlucky. Mine are usually only about four or so days, but I only started last fall, so they’re not quite regular yet. My mom’s are about the same length, but she said she knew someone whose period usually lasted about _eight_ days.”

“That sounds rough.”

She laughed. “That’s what I said!”

Beside her, Yura’s lips curled into a slight smile, and she leaned against the warm stone with a soft noise of relief. Together, they watched Maki and Torii— oh, well, _Saori_ and _Natsumi_ , it should be now— compete to see who could make the largest splashes in the otherwise tranquil pond. The water droplets spraying into the air created faint rainbows whenever they crossed the path of one of the lights surrounding the area, ethereal against the backdrop of the night and the white of the steam.

_It really is a pity Rika’s missing out on this. It would have been nice to have some girl time with her and everyone else. Maybe if we go in tomorrow, she and Tsurara can join us and just stay on the edge— that wouldn’t be too bad, right? Hm, I wonder what they’re doing right now…_

Just as Kana was beginning to doze off, Yura spoke again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Ie— um, Kana, but… have you been doing alright?”

She blinked a few times, forcing her mind to focus as she sat up and turned her attention to her friend. “Alright? What do you mean?”

For once, Yura’s posture was curled in slightly, a clear display of discomfort more overt than her usual expressions allowed. “After— after what _happened_ , with the rat yōkai. I failed to protect you, and because of that we were both—“

“Oh.” Frankly, Kana had been trying not to think about that. It hadn’t been too difficult, since she’d spent so much time worrying about Rika after she heard about the fever (and when she stopped by the Nura house the next day— well, her nightmares hadn’t been about _rats_ that night), and making sure to wear tights or leggings had helped put it out of mind. Now, she crossed her ankles self-consciously, arms wrapping around her knees. “I mean, I think I’m okay, actually.”

When Yura looked at her curiously, she continued nervously, “I mean, it was really scary! More than usual, for me, since they were— and we could’ve— but none of that actually happened.” The curious look wasn’t going away, so Kana pressed her lips together and tried to explain better. “Since that person— the yōkai that you and Kiyotsugu are after, right? Since he and his— _friends?_ Were there, we didn’t get hurt. The one without a neck even fixed our clothes, which was rather nice. And then—” She sighed, twisting her fingers together as a distraction. “—well, Rika got sick, and after that I think I was more worried about her than I was about myself, you know?”

After staring for a few more moments, Yura sighed and returned her gaze to the star-speckled sky. “You’re really amazing, Kana.”

Suddenly, it seemed like all of the heat from the hot spring had rushed to Kana’s face, and she patted her cheeks in a futile attempt to cool them down. “W-what? I’m really not! _Nu-uh_ , nope!” Sinking lower into the water, as though she could hide in it, she added, “I-I mean, if anything, _you’re_ the really amazing one here. You can summon— um—”

“Shikigami.”

“—shikigami, and you can seal yōkai!” Puffing out her cheeks again, Kana looked across the water. “I bet, if I hadn’t been there, you could’ve easily beaten those guys.” When Yura shot her an incredulous look, she straightened up and crossed her arms. “I mean, did you see how easily the other— um, those other yōkai? They took the rats out in _minutes_ , and I bet you could’ve too if you’d had the chance!”

Yura’s cheeks were flushed, though it wasn’t clear if it was from the heat of the hot spring or from embarrassment, and she ducked her head slightly. “That’s very kind of you to say, Kana, but I know the limits of my strength. That Hyakki Yakkō—” She bit her lip, frowning up at the treetops. “They were strong. I could probably take on one of them and win, but as I am now? I can’t match that collective power.”

After a few moments, she managed a small smile. “But that’s why I’m here, after all. To train, and become a stronger onmyōji.”

It was so _direct_ , so like Yura, that Kana couldn’t help but smile in return. “I’ll be rooting for you, then!”

Yura huffed, still smiling ever-so-slightly, and lifted her arms up in order to stretch to one side, then the other. The smile slipped away, leaving her with the usual neutral expression as she turned to look at Kana again. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. It’s about Nu—”

“ _Rika!_ Rika, are you there? Excuse me, is anybody there? _Please?_ ”

A familiar voice cut through the ambient nighttime soundscape, pitched higher than usual and cut through with a desperate edge. There weren’t any audible footsteps, but Kana was already up and scrambling for her towel, wrapping it around herself as quickly as possible before running across the rocks to the door leading inside.

“Kana?”

“Hey, who was—”

“Kana, are you alright?”

“Sorry, I’ll be back soon!” She didn’t particularly want to answer the door dripping wet and wearing only a (not very big) towel, so Kana hurriedly dried herself off and tugged on her clothes from earlier before dashing, still barefoot, to the front door of the villa. As she threw it open, she was greeted by the sight of windswept blond hair and frantic, piercing eyes. “Shirō! What’s wrong, why are you here, I thought you were staying behind—“

Her line of questions broke off when he grabbed her shoulders a bit roughly, thin fingers digging into the fabric of her now-damp blouse. Shirō’s chest was heaving, as though he’d run all the way up the mountain, and his breathing had a ragged edge to it as he spoke. “Kana, is Rika here? Is she in there with you?”

“N-no, I think she went out with Kiyotsugu and the others—”

“ _Others?_ What others?” The gleam in his eyes looked an awful lot like panic, which coming from Shirō — who had always been notably composed whenever she saw him — was worrying. His grip on her shoulders tightened, then loosened slightly when she winced. “Kana, I need you to tell me who’s out there right now, _please._ ”

She was beginning to feel a bit panicked herself. “Um— I think Rika, and Tsurara, and Big Bro— uh, Mister Zen, I mean— and Kiyotsugu and Jirō. Yura and I were trying out the hot springs with Natsumi and Saori— _Shirō, what’s going on?_ ”

Swearing, he leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, increasing the tousled effect. “Shit. _Shit,_ I have to go find them. This is— Kana, whatever you do, stay inside and _don’t open the door_ , okay? Get your friends and get them inside. I can’t— I can’t explain _why_ , but you’re all in danger.”

He turned to run back into the night, and it felt as though Kana’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute. He’d asked for Rika first, which— he had always seemed a bit overprotective of her, but to be _that desperate_ meant that whatever was going on, Rika was probably in the most danger of all of them. Kana didn’t know why, but that just seemed like the logical conclusion — and one she didn’t like at all. So before he could disappear, she lunged and grabbed his wrist.

“What are you—”

“I’m coming with you! I _know,_ ” Before he could protest, she cut him off firmly, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, “it’s dangerous and I’m just some girl, but— but Rika’s my _best friend,_ and if she’s in danger I can’t just stay here! Just wait a moment, so I can tell Yura and the others, please?”

For a few seconds, he stared at her as though he’d never seen her before (and maybe that was reasonable — Kana wasn’t entirely sure of what she was doing right now either). Then— “Fine. Fine, just— _hurry._ ”

That was all the cue she needed to dash back inside, bare feet smacking against the nice flooring (and probably tracking water everywhere) as she skidded into the doorway to the springs. Yura had already gotten out of the water, once more wrapped in her towel and expression wary. Before her friend could ask, Kana shook her head. “You all need to get out _right now_ , and get inside— I don’t know why, but Shirō’s here and he says there’s danger, and we have to go find Rika and the others and _you just need to get inside now—_ “

She was cut off by a rustling from the trees above the springs, and a giant claw punched into the ground just beside where Saori and Natsumi were bathing. The large, looming shapes were partially obscured by the darkness, but Kana was pretty sure she knew what they were— and judging by the shikigami Yura immediately summoned, she wasn’t wrong.

“You’re going with him, right?” The onmyōji yelled over her shoulder even as she dashed forward to place herself between the yōkai and their friends. “Hurry up and _go!_ I’ll protect everyone here!”

Kana didn’t need to be told twice. She ran back through the villa, something in the back of her mind telling her that she was probably going to regret this later, and out the front door.

Shirō must have grabbed her shoes while she was inside, because he shoved them into her hands before all but slamming the door shut. “Put those on, quick — no time for socks, can’t run on this stuff barefoot.”

Luckily, Kana had a fair amount of experience with quickly pulling on shoes while running out the door. A few tugs and a tap on each foot, and together she and Shirō raced off into the darkness. There would be time for questions later — _hopefully_ — but for now, all she could do was hope that they wouldn’t be too late.

(Running beside her, barely remembering to keep his scarf on and run at a close-to-human pace, Kubinashi was desperately hoping for the same thing.)

 

* * *

_“It’s that— Lord Zen, the young Sect leader.”_

_“Hm.”_

_“I— he and that girl are_ friends _, I believe. Doesn’t explain why he’s here, though.”_

_“I had suspected their relationship might grow closer after Hebidayu’s actions.”_

_“So— what, you think he’s here to_ protect _her?_ That guy? _He’s practically got a foot already in the grave!”_

_“But as the Gyūki clan has no quarrel with him, it would be unwise to attack him, and he likely knows as much.”_

_“Wha— you mean we’re not allowed to hurt him?_ Seriously? _”_

_“Gozumaru.”_

_“S— sorry, Lord Gyūki.”_

_“It is inconvenient, but I do not believe he will cause much disruption. Go on, it is already night.”_

_“Ah, my blood’s already boiling in excitement! I won’t fail, Lord Gyūki.”_

_“Good.”_

* * *

 

“Hey, over here!”

Whacking futilely at the brush still scratching his shins (come to think of it, maybe he should have taken a few extra minutes to put on pants back at the villa), Rikuo followed Kiyotsugu to the grassy cliff’s-edge to peer over his classmate’s shoulder, squinting in the twilight as he tried to make out what was being pointed at.

Surprisingly helpful, Kiyotsugu nudged his shoulder and angled his hand a bit more directly. “Down there! From here, we can see the location of a yōkai fable — “the Cave of the Hidden Cow”!” Sure enough, the dark hollow of a small cave, almost perfectly below them and nestled into the side of the cliff, slowly made itself clear. Kiyotsugu angled his flashlight towards the cave as Jirō joined them, explaining, “So the story goes that there was a priest making a journey across this mountain, and he was being chased by yōkai. Of course, he ran, and he took refuge from the yōkai in this cave for a _hundred_ days! Fascinating, isn’t it?”

His friend’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm, and for a moment Rikuo found himself properly drawn into the story. Whatever else he had to say about Kiyotsugu (namely, that he was often a bit loud, lacked foresight, and wasn’t particularly good at noticing social cues), the guy’s passion was truly admirable.

“Alright, Shima, now you climb down there and take a look!”

… and it was liable to get him killed one day.

Rikuo groaned, glancing up to check on Tsurara and Zen. The former seemed pretty at ease, crouched down by a bush and— apparently, trying to converse with a raccoon? Perhaps she’d forgotten that tanuki yōkai only resided on Shikoku island, and certainly wouldn’t be found in the territory of a foreign yōkai (well, at least not _Gyūki’s_ — personally, as long as they behaved and weren’t disrespectful, Rikuo wouldn’t mind offering a tanuki or two a spot in his Yakkō). Still, it was a charming sight — if he remembered correctly, Tsurara hadn’t actually left the Main House for more than a day since she’d arrived there as a child. (The fact that she got to have a new experience like this made the trip just a little bit more worthwhile, in his opinion).

Zen, on the other hand, was observing the woods warily from a few feet back. He didn’t seem to be physically on guard, though the set of his shoulders and the fact that his arms were crossed instead of tucked into his pockets spoke to a casual readiness, and he hadn’t argued against Rikuo joining the group or against them going out to explore. By all reasoning, nothing seemed wrong.

_And yet…_

_‘Hey, Zen?’_ The taller yōkai glanced down, the fingers of one hand twitching minutely in acknowledgement, and Rikuo pursed his lips before signing. _‘You’ve seemed kind of on edge since we left the villa, is everything okay? Should I tell them to go back?’_

The few moments it took Zen to ponder his reply were not reassuring. _‘No, it’s fine. Since it’s Gyūki’s territory and you’re all kids, figure it’s my job to look out for you.’_

Keeping half his attention focused on Jirō as the boy reluctantly (and carefully) climbed down the cliffside to take a look at the doubtlessly empty cave, Rikuo frowned and sat back on his heels to readjust his ponytail. _‘Technically, Tsurara’s the oldest of everyone here— yeah, yeah,’_ he flicked out quickly, cutting off the inevitable retort, _‘I know, your kind age quicker than most yōkai, she’s basically still a kid, yadda yadda. But seriously, I_ am _capable of looking out for my friends, you know.’_

_‘Right, that’s why you were sick for days after last time. Real capable.’_

Something in the pit of Rikuo’s stomach clenched coldly, and he turned away before his hands could come up with an answer his brain hadn’t agreed to sharing. He didn’t want to lash out at Zen — his friend was probably just poking fun at him, like always (like they had when they were young), which meant he really didn’t deserve to be snapped at the way Rikuo’s instinctive retort had been before he quenched it. And yet… It wasn’t like he needed to be reminded of what had happened, _thanks_ — even after the fever dreams were done, he’d had more nightmares the past week than he usually had in a month. Not to mention that everyone had been basically stepping on eggshells around him recently, and he couldn’t tell if it was because they were worried (which they didn’t need to be, _everyone_ got sick sometimes and he was _fine_ now), or because they’d seen how weak he really was and decided to walk carefully rather than offend his ‘delicate feelings’ or some horseshit.

What happened after he transformed wasn’t his _fault_. Nobody else knew what it was like to go through that, to wake up in the morning with no memory of what you said and did, with nausea curling in your stomach and even your _skin_ feeling like it’s been put on wrong. To have people treating you differently time and time again, all because of things you don’t remember happening.

After the incident at Zen’s house, the clan had celebrated and Rikuo had felt like he wanted to tear his skin to bloody shreds just to free himself from it. He’d felt _disgusting_. Following the Kyūso fiasco, everyone seemed to think he was so _upset_ and _hurt_ by the experience — no, he’d fucking overexerted himself and gotten sick, that was literally _the only thing_ that had happened. The dysphoria hadn’t even gotten worse, because by the time his fever had passed he must have gotten used to the shape and feel of his human body again. (Which wasn’t to say he _liked_ it, especially with his cramps only partially muted by the painkillers they’d found, but that sort of dull disgust was still better than the feeling of utter wrongness that seemed to always come with his transformations).

“—location, the “One-Eyed Cedar”!” Kiyotsugu was saying in evident delight a little further up the path, map in one hand and the other gesturing exuberantly. “We’ll have to _pass through it!_ ”

Absently (now that he’d started thinking, it was hard to stop), Rikuo responded, “Can’t we just walk around? There’s room.”

“Ah, but that would be diminishing the experience!”

Beside him, Tsurara was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Rikuo sighed before signing to her. _‘Go ahead. If the yōkai bother you, tell them you’re on official duty and are helping me keep the humans from bothering them.’_ Sometimes, there was only so far politeness could go before it turned into outright lying, and that was a line that had to be crossed with regretful frequency when it came to dealing with yōkai.

His aide beamed and immediately scrambled for the hole, elbows knocking against the trunk awkwardly as she squeezed through. Jirō crowed with laughter, while Kiyotsugu ran around the tree to bombard Tsurara with questions as she emerged, looking a little disheveled but none the worse for wear. After a few minutes of discussion, they seemed to decide to take turns crawling through the hole and sharing their experiences, so Rikuo felt reasonably safe in pulling his attention away for a brief moment to step closer to Zen and speak in a lowered voice.

“Do you think it’s strange, that we’ve found so many of these yōkai fable locations, but no yōkai?” In most other situations, he wouldn’t really pay it as much mind — yōkai did what they wanted, there wasn’t always much point in trying to predict where they’d appear — but… “It’s nighttime, and it’s Gyūki’s mountain, so I would have figured we’d find more.”

Zen huffed. “That’s part of what’s got me bothered. Feel like we should’ve at least seen a few small fry scampering around by now.”

“Maybe Gyūki doesn’t let small yōkai wander around his territory like grandfather does?”

“Maybe.” The tone didn’t sound particularly convinced, and a quick glance at Zen’s expression found him warily contemplative. Tsurara and the boys had started wandering off towards the next possible destination, so Rikuo steeled himself against the dull throb of his abdomen (easier to do once he’d gotten used to it) and followed them at a slightly sedate pace. Walking slower meant Zen wouldn’t get as worn out, and they could keep talking easily. It took a few minutes before Zen continued his train of thought. “Probably ain’t anything important, but like this… with you out here and only me an’ Yuki Onna able to act if something happens, it makes me a bit uneasy.”

In all fairness (taking aside his general discomfort with how people had been reacting to things), Rikuo could see his friend’s point. While he had a decent handle on borrowing Fear for this or that purpose, he still couldn’t really control _how_ or _when_ he took on his yōkai form — and without it, he’d have a much more difficult time trying to fight fellow yōkai. And while Zen and Tsurara were both fully capable in their own rights, combat was not Zen’s forte for many reasons and Tsurara was still relatively young and inexperienced by yōkai standards.

If it came down to a fight, unlikely as that was, Rikuo wouldn’t bet money on their chances of winning. But that wouldn’t happen, _right?_

At almost the exact moment that he thought this, they heard a startled yelp from further up the path. The air temperature dropped abruptly as Rikuo and Zen crashed their way through the thinner underbrush (it wasn’t a straight path, so going off it provided a more direct route) to the origin of the sound. “ _Tsurara!_ What is—”

“I was just talking to them, and—” The Yuki Onna wasn’t distressed, per se, but her shoulders were tense and her eyes wide, as though trying to _see_ the answers she needed. She gestured off to where a fork in the path was visible, each divergence disappearing further into the trees. “—and something just _came over_ them, and they both went different ways! They didn’t even respond when I tried to talk to them! Master, what should we—”

Something in Rikuo’s gut clenched.

Thankfully, neither of his companions started when he responded. “Tsurara, you go after Jirō. Zen, you’re with me on Kiyotsugu. Whatever’s happened,” And it was clear that _something_ had happened, because his friends might occasionally be naïve and act without forethought, but even they knew better than to wander apart in a place like this (especially when only one person had any semblance of a map), “We have to get them out of danger first. Our primary plan will be to knock them out and bring them back to the villa, understood?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Right!”

Turning down the right-hand path, Rikuo broke into a run without waiting to see if his companions were doing the same. He didn’t want something to be going sideways out here, but there was little he could do to control what people around him chose to do. Since something ( _or someone_ ) on the mountain had decided to cause trouble with his friends, he figured he could be pardoned for going back on his word to Gyūki for a bit in order to stop said trouble from getting any worse. (His jacket was starting to feel uncomfortably hot, like the temperature had suddenly jumped at least ten degrees. _What was with that?_ Was he going to have to deal with hot flashes too, _now_ of all times? All he was wearing underneath was a t-shirt, but being a bit chilly seemed like a better alternative to getting sweaty on top of all the dirt and grime from the hike. He took the jacket off and tied it around his waist without slowing.)

It didn’t take long to find Kiyotsugu, who was wandering somewhat aimlessly through the trees with his flashlight held loosely in one hand. One hard hit to the back of his neck had him dropping like a stone (relatively light for all his height, because he was built like a _literal beanpole_ ), and Rikuo took a moment to sigh heavily and drop into a crouch beside him. “I hope I didn’t hit too hard… Zen, can you give him a check? Make sure there’s nothing… I don’t know, _stuck_ to him that might have caused this? Can yōkai do that?”

Zen snorted. “If there's anyone that can, I don’t know ‘em.” Deftly, he checked Kiyotsugu’s pulse and breathing, before turning him over and back to check the exposed skin on his neck and hands in case of any oddities. “Seems fine — whatever messed with your friends, it wasn’t physical, far as I can tell. Should we go meet up with Yuki Onna, then?”

“Just call her Tsurara, _seriously_.” Rolling his eyes, Rikuo opened his mouth to agree and froze. Something uncomfortably familiar was tickling his senses, acrid and bittersweet and edged with all the sorts of emotions that make his skin crawl and his blood sing. It was ice-cold, and he’d turned to look back the way they’d come before he realized it. It was— “ _Tsurara’s in trouble_. Zen, grab Kiyotsugu. Once you find Jirō, knock him out and then take both of them and hide.”

“Fuck you, I’m not just gonna _run and hi—_ ”

Something tight and uncomfortable filled Rikuo’s throat, and when he spoke around it his voice came out rough. “Between the two of us, even in my current state, I’ll do better in combat. _You_ are the one I trust to make sure my friends stay safe, understood?” A slight, high shriek rent the air, and he flinched. “And I _can’t—_ If we get hurt, I’ll be counting on you to make sure no-one _dies_. Got it?”

Before Zen could respond, Rikuo grabbed Kiyotsugu’s flashlight (better an improvised weapon than none at all) and scrambled back along the path. Something behind his ear snapped, and he vaguely noticed strands of hair falling free to brush against his cheeks and neck as he ran. The glasses, already balanced precariously, slipped down the bridge of his nose and fell onto the path. He didn't stop to pick them up. It felt like his blood was boiling beneath his skin, the sensation of acrid Fear filling the air and seeping into his lungs. There was a flash from up ahead, a glimmer of something cold and white, and then the telltale silver of moonlight reflecting off of a sword’s edge.

The strange yōkai, dark-haired and dark-clothed, plunged his katana downwards towards Tsurara’s neck (she was pinned in place by a heavy foot on her chest, in her yōkai form and already dripping blood, pale cheeks flushed defiantly), and the world blurred and refocused around Rikuo as he lunged forward.

A resounding _crack_ filled the air.

 

* * *

 _“What the—_ oh, no! _”_

_“Kejōrō? What is it?”_

_“Have the Sanba-Garasu left yet?”_

_“No, we’re still here.”_

_“Oh, thank goodness! Here, take this—”_

_“A sword?”_

_“Master Rikuo left it behind, but if he’s in danger and needs to fight—”_

_“I understand. I’ll bring it to him as quickly as possible.”_

_“Please hurry.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, at long last! I'm continuing my time-honored tradition of getting back into writing this fic around finals time (although I'm actually a few weeks early this term), and I might try to get the next chapter written and posted soon as well!
> 
> I've been sitting on most parts of this chapter for a few months, so I hope it's satisfactory! (And if the editing is a bit messy... I'm editing and posting it in the middle of my BIO 103 lecture, so I'm a tad bit distracted ^^)
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and please leave a comment if there's anything you especially liked! :) (or if there's something you disliked, were curious about, want to debate, etc...)
> 
> <3


	13. strong as you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it rains, it pours. And even when you've exhausted your abilities, even if you think there's nothing you can do — there is still always a way forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains Yura's encounter with Mezumaru, and a very small piece of Rikuo's fight with Gozumaru. I don't think there's anything too explicit in either, but just in case.**
> 
> _Please check the end note as well!_

_As long as I am able to stand._

 

* * *

Facing down the hulking yōkai intruders, their shapes barely visible against the night sky and misty mountain air, Yura really wished she’d followed Kana’s example and put on clothes the moment things started going sideways. After her most recent encounter, she didn’t really want to go up against these guys in just a towel — not to mention that it really put a cramp in her mobility, having to hold it in place. Granted, these yōkai seemed much more the overt-destruction type, rather than psychological damage ( _or anything else of the sort_ ), but even that wasn’t particularly reassuring.

Kana was out safely, at least. Or was she? Should Yura have sent a shikigami with her, just in case? But no, she would have to trust Kana and Ayatori to handle themselves. She needed all her resources at hand, with so many foes and two non-combatants to defend. Shit, how crass could those beasts be, attacking women in the bath? Behind her, she could hear Torii ( _Natsumi_ , she had to remember that now) and Maki ( _Saori_ , come _on_ , Yura) running for the building. That might work, but yōkai didn’t really care all that much about property damage. The shelter of walls and a roof might not be enough of a deterrent— “Bukyoku! Defend those two!”

“Shit!” As the ochimusha materialized in front of the girls, the yōkai who seemed to be in control — a smaller one, seated high and away from the battle and wearing what appeared to be some sort of animal skull (a deer? a horse?) on his head — complained loudly. “Jeez, how many of those shikigami can you bring out?! That damn Gozumaru— the hell does _he_ know, saying this is the ‘easier group’ since it doesn’t have the Third? This isn’t easy _at all—_ Gozu, you _idiot_!”

The Third? That sounded familiar— Yura took a few moments, catching her breath (just because she could summon three shikigami at once, didn’t mean it was _easy_ ) and wracking her brain as Rokuson and Tanrō maintained a solid offensive front. The third _what_? Was there something else that had been following them—

Abruptly, she remembered the conversation she’d had with the monk yōkai, the first time he visited after the Kyūso incident. He’d mentioned the group he belonged to having a _second_ leader, who’d died recently — and been succeeded by his _son_.

Was this some sort of yōkai group infighting, like with the rats? An insurgence against the new leader? Yura would be fine with the yōkai killing each other, but this was making trouble for her friends — and as an onmyōji, it was her duty to ensure no harm came to the humans around her. The large yōkai — masses of what looked like glistening rot and bone, with bull-like countenances — lunged forwards again, and she drew a simple attack ofuda from her wallet.

“Give it up, already!”

The resulting explosion — hey, she’d picked up a volume of Naruto at a friend’s house last year, and the whole exploding-tag concept had actually seemed like a _pretty decent idea_ — didn’t appear to do much damage to the large yōkai, but had the satisfying result of causing the little, loud-mouthed one to unbalance and fall on his ass.

Yura tried to force her lungs to expand fully. She’d already been a bit worn out from the long hike up, and now she could almost feel her energy draining away. At this rate, the shikigami would only last maybe five more minutes — and then not only would she be out of power, but she’d be leaving Natsumi and Saori defenseless. Even now, Rokuson and Tanrō were beginning to flag, and she tugged at her connection to them just a bit to pull them back to a defense position. Bukyoku was still doing a good job of guarding the girls, but that could only last so long. Should she try to summon Hagun? End things quickly, get it all over with, maybe pass out for a bit? ( _She really needed to put together some better protective measures for her friends — amulets, perhaps, or adapted burst ofudas — if this was going to keep happening_ ).

Before the thoughts could finish coalescing ( _was she just going to fail again? What else could she possibly do?_ ), a mess of limbs smacked against Yura’s back and sent her face-first into the hot spring. Which really stung. Through the water, Bukyoku’s startled yell was oddly distorted, and Yura pushed herself up to the surface in time to see one of the large yōkai knock Rokuson off balance and into the water as well.

Crap. Scratch that, _double-crap._

Yura would have to remake his shikigami tag now, if they survived this. Her wallet had fallen into the spring as well — there went any hope of throwing some more explosions at the little one, not to mention her coupons (thankfully, the rest of her money was in coins, so they— _at least—_ were fine). She shoved at the arms pulling on her shoulders, and— “Hey, what gives?” Smacking away Saori’s oddly-limp wrists and trying to block Natsumi’s shoulders with an elbow, Yura tried to get her blank-eyed friends to look at her. “I told you to stay away, get back! _What the hell_ , you two!”

Somewhere behind her, the noisy little yōkai was shouting again, but Yura couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Not when her friends — or whatever spirit had taken control of their bodies, going by the odd movements and blank expressions — were apparently trying to drown her in a hot spring. One hand pushed her head under the water again, much stronger than either of the girls should have been, and Yura apologized mentally. Without her shikigami, she’d have to do this the physical way — that was, if she could still summon the energy for it.

The water hampered her movements, but at least the heat was keeping her muscles nice and loose. Still held under the surface, she braced her hands against the bottom of the spring and swung her leg out in an arc, connecting solidly (though with less force than she’d hoped) against what felt like the back of a knee. The grip on her head fell away, and Yura gasped for breath as she came up again. Blinking water out of her eyes, she snapped a palm towards Saori — who she must have hit before, since the girl was already in the process of stumbling backwards — and tried not to wince at the resounding _smack_ as her strike connected solidly with her friend’s temple.

Martial arts weren’t a traditional component of onmyōdo, since most onmyōji could safely rely on their shikigami and seals without ever having to get physical. However, after their parents died, Ryūji had insisted she sign up at a dōjō. Even though he always picked on her and expected way too much, Yura’s brother was brilliant for his age and she trusted his advice ( _though not when it came to stuff like food — he’d tried to make her combine ketchup and wasabi once, for crying out loud_ ). So they’d found the best traditional dōjō in Kyōto, convinced Grandfather to enroll her, and she’d grown up balancing martial strength with spiritual. (Yura wasn’t entirely certain, but she had an inkling that the martial arts experience had been a major factor in her ability to summon Hagun, since it emphasized discipline and awareness of internal and external energies. For that alone, she was pretty grateful).

It wasn’t pleasant to hurt her friends, but Yura turned as best she could and struck the back of Natsumi’s neck carefully. Saori had already fallen back, not knocked out but hopefully dazed, and maybe this could get them out of the fighting—

But _no_ , whatever was controlling them apparently didn’t care how conscious they were. Yura swore as arms shoved down on her shoulders with renewed pressure, trying to break free and get a bit of distance. “ _Crap—_ Tanrō, Bukyoku!” When she managed to look over, Tanrō had vanished, another slip of paper floating in the water. Bukyoku was flickering. “Crap— this is bad, _this is really bad—_ ”

“ _Go!_ ”

Water arched into the air as something struck one of the large yōkai, driving it headfirst into the ground in a spray of what looked suspiciously like blood. The other were similarly attacked, beaten downwards abruptly and sending hot water flying across the area. Yura flinched, pulling one arm up to protect her eyes. Through the steam, she could see three humanoid-looking figures with what seemed to be wings ( _more yōkai?_ ) driving spear-like weapons through the attacking yōkai’s skulls, effectively disabling the creatures with surprising efficiency. ( _Could she have done that, if she was at full power?_ )

Belatedly, she realized the weight on her shoulders had disappeared, and turned just in time to catch Natsumi as the girl fell backwards. “Crap! Please don’t be dead!” On her other side, Saori blinked slowly and pressed a hand to her forehead as Yura hurried to check for a pulse. “Oh, phew. Still there, good.”

“Huh? Yura?” Saori waded closer, a little unsteady (Yura _really_ hoped she hadn’t hit too hard) and sending splashes of water everywhere in the near vicinity. Her eyes flickered wide. “Natsumi! What happened, is she okay?”

Passing the unconscious girl over to her friend, Yura resisted the urge to twist her fingers together. She used to do so when she was young, but Ryūji had always said she couldn’t let her nervousness show like that — not if they wanted the elders to take them seriously. “I, um— the yōkai took control of the two of you somehow, and I’d lost most of my shikigami when we fell into the spring.” Saori was watching her, expression still wide and confused, and Yura had a sinking feeling she might have accidentally lost herself two friends after having barely known them. “She’s, um— she’s just unconscious, might have a headache but she’ll be— she’ll be _fine_ , I just. Um, I thought if I knocked you both out, maybe you’d stop trying to drown me, so I— I’m sorry about your head, also, and your leg as well, but I was running out of air and Rokuson had already fallen so—”

“Woah, woah.” Holding up one hand, Saori took a deep breath in and out ( _in and out_ ) before the tension in her shoulders slipped away. “It’s fine, Yura. I’m not mad at you for protecting us, okay? Kinda badass, actually.” She shrugged awkwardly, one hand absently working through the tangles forming in Natsumi’s hair. “Sorry for trying to, uh, drown you?”

Against her better instincts, Yura found herself smiling weakly. “No need to apologize.”

“Excuse me.”

The voice that spoke behind her was female, a bit deep and quite stern in tone. Turning around, Yura found herself face-to-face with one of the winged yōkai, who appeared to have the form of a tall human with a crow’s head and— _glasses_ , oddly enough. A tengu, clearly, though female (Yura hadn’t heard of a female tengu, but she _did_ still have a lot to learn). She didn’t seem threatening, though the staff in her hand was held firmly as though wary of being attacked, which seemed entirely fair. By this point, however, Yura had been rescued by yōkai twice now. She could hold off on her mission long enough for some information.

So she turned fully, making sure to position herself between her friends and the yōkai, and tilted her chin up. ( _Don’t show weakness_ ). “Yes, what is it?”

The tengu inclined her head carefully, the sharpness of her gaze muted ever so slightly by a measure of what seemed like understanding. “I apologize for the trouble that has been brought to you. Do you happen to know where the rest of your companions might be?”

Yura frowned. Aside from Ayatori and Kana, she hadn’t seen or heard from Rikuo and the others since they entered the hot springs. From what she’d gathered, Ayatori was looking for them as well— did that mean they were in trouble too? “Kana left just before we were attacked— one of our friends, Ayatori, said the others were in danger. I assume they must have gone out exploring.”

Oddly enough, the tengu just sighed in what sounded suspiciously like exasperation. “Naturally. Oi, Kuromaru!” One of the other two tengu — both appeared to be more masculine, and had been interrogating the small yōkai on the far side of the springs — turned her direction with a nod. “The Young Master is somewhere in the woods. Since Mezumaru’s here, I’d wager a night’s patrol that Gozumaru’s gone after the others. Go find him, fast as you can.”

“On it.”

As the other dark-haired tengu flew off into the night, the bespectacled one turned to address the third. “Tosakamaru, go report back to father. Gyūki’s clearly arranged this — it’s unlikely that he’ll go after these humans, but I would rather not risk it. Make sure the monks are ready to leave— I’ll call if they’re needed. Oh, and bring Mezumaru with you for further questioning.” The third tengu, who appeared to have a bleached mohawk ( _could yōkai be punk? It certainly didn’t look natural_ ), flashed her a thumbs-up before grabbing the skull-headed yōkai and launching himself into the sky as well.

The female tengu turned back to Yura with another sigh, arms crossed, but before she could speak again a thought crossed Yura’s mind. “The monks? Are you— um, the yōkai called Kurotabō, are you from the same… group? Clan?”

“Clan, no. Group, yes.” Inclining her head, the tengu peered down at Yura thoughtfully. “You are the onmyōji girl, yes? Kurotabō mentioned you.”

That was… unexpected. “He insists on bringing me food.”

One sharp eye glanced briefly over her, and Yura realized belatedly that she (and Saori and Natsumi) were still completely naked. Less embarrassing than it would have been usually, considering the circumstances, but pretty awkward nonetheless. The tengu huffed. “I’ll tell him to bring you more. Goodness knows he should remember how much energy you children need, with the amount our Young Master eats.” Before Yura could decided whether to be indignant or flustered, the tengu swept into a short bow. “My name is Sasami. Considering the danger, and the state of both you and your shikigami, may I be permitted to keep guard at this location until the night ends?”

Seriously, what was it with these yōkai and being— being all _not-chaotic_ and wanting to help? Yura really didn’t get it, but at this point she was down all but one of her shikigami (Bukyoku had been dismissed, but thankfully on dry land) and her stomach felt like it was about to digest itself. The last yōkai from this ‘group’ hadn’t done any damage, and she _did_ need to make sure Saori and Natsumi stayed safe. “Alright.” She crossed her arms. “But come morning, you’re leaving.”

“As I would be.” The tengu — Sasami ( _who in their right mind named her that, anyways?_ ) — nodded sharply before stepping past Yura to lift Natsumi into an easy carry, despite Saori’s startled yelp. “You two, come inside, then. Find yourselves some clothes.”

Apparently also now becoming aware of her nudity, Saori squeaked and wrapped an arm over her chest. Yura sighed, wondered if perhaps she was just starting to go crazy, and waded out to retrieve her damp wallet and ruined shikigami before following the yōkai inside.

Damn, she really hoped Kana and Rikuo and the others were alright.

* * *

 

_As long as there is breath in my lungs._

 

* * *

“Shirō, how—” Why did talking and running at the same time have to be so hard? Kana tried to force the air into her lungs, dragging her attention away from the stitch in her side and back to her surroundings. “—how are we going to _find_ them? These woods are so big, and I don’t— we don’t know where they _went_!”

Around them, the trees loomed large and dark against the moonlight — and thank goodness, there was nearly a full moon, so at least their lack of a flashlight wasn’t too much of an impediment. Chilly humidity kept the mist hanging low in the air, and a small part of Kana wished she’d been able to dry her hair off a bit. It was cold and damp and kept getting in her face, and it would probably be all horribly tangled once it was back to normal. And that was without all of the twigs and leaves it seemed to be collecting!

Next to her, Shirō didn’t respond immediately. After his initial appearance, he’d been largely silent, expression tight and intently focused on the task at hand. In a way, Kana really admired that. Once a minute or two had passed, he finally slowed to a stop in a smallish clearing, not even a little winded ( _which,_ Kana thought, _was just plain unfair_ ). There didn’t appear to be anything particularly unusual about the location — no sign of any of their friends, just more of the usual underbrush and occasional blossoms — and Kana took the moment to brace her hands against her knees and catch her breath. ( _Why wasn’t Shirō in any clubs? Well, aside from this one, but really— that was some serious athleticism_ ).

“Is— did you find something?”

Shaking his head, Shirō glanced at her with an unreadable expression. For a few moments, he seemed to be deep in thought. “… Kana, can I ask you to close your eyes for a few minutes? I can’t—”

“—tell me why, right?” She parroted the line back, an echo of his arrival just perhaps seven or so minutes ago. Sometimes, Kana wished her life was still nice and normal and not all tangled up in weird, frightening supernatural stuff — but for that, she’d probably have to go as far back as kindergarten, and that just wasn’t worth the time. For whatever reason, this sort of thing just seemed to be a part of her world now. Whatever Shirō was hiding (and Kana was pretty sure he was hiding something — she couldn’t claim to be the most insightful, but he wasn’t exactly the best liar  _either_ ), she figured it couldn’t possibly be worse than some of the things they’d already seen. “Just don’t run off while I’m not looking and leave me here alone, please?”

Surprise flickered across his expression before he managed a wan smile. “Of course. If you want to hold onto my hand to make sure I can’t, you’re welcome to.”

“That would help, thanks.” Okay, maybe she was a little more scared than she would have liked. In another situation, the whole holding-a-boy’s-hand idea would’ve been kind of uncomfortable (like she’d said before, Kana wasn’t really interested in all that right now — and she wasn’t like Rika or Saori, physical affection wasn’t as much her thing anyways). But here, in the middle of a possibly-yōkai-infested forest at night, with a friend who she at least knew she could trust?

Kana wrapped her fingers tightly around his, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Wind whistled softly through the clearing, briefly lifting the damp hair away from her forehead and leaving a gentle chill in its wake. Shirō’s hand was cool and dry ( _did he even break a sweat? Totally unfair_ ), and surprisingly rough to the touch. Kana could feel what seemed to be innumerable callouses, covering his fingers and what would have otherwise been the softer parts of his palm — not particularly thick, as far as she could tell, but rough and hard. There were other odd spots too — what felt like thinner lines cutting through the roughness, places where the skin was particularly tight.

Once all this was over, she would try to get a good look at his hands. Or maybe just ask — whatever reason there was, it would probably be an interesting one, and right now Kana would much rather have interesting stories than probably-in-danger-friends.

The hand wrapped around hers tensed, clenching abruptly, and she heard Shirō swear under his breath in what sounded like English. Forcing her eyes to stay closed, she turned her head back in his direction. “What is it? Is—”

“I found them. You can open your eyes.” Shirō’s expression was dark with displeasure, and he released Kana’s hand the moment she’d blinked and looked around. “They’re split up— Zen’s with Kiyotsugu and Jirō, they’re both unconscious. R— Rika’s with Tsurara, they’re—” Cutting himself off, he grimaced and beckoned her with one hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Her feet moved even before her brain caught up with the information, breaking back into a run as Shirō lead them in a new direction more purposefully than before. “— they’re what? Shirō, is Rika okay? What’s—”

“They’re fighting something.” The skin around his eyes was tight and creased with worry, gaze trained firmly on the path ahead of them. Kana felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of her stomach, and if they’d eaten at all in the last few hours she might have thrown up. “She’s capable, but unarmed like this— Damnit, Tsurara, _what the hell happened_?”

Kana wasn’t sure she was supposed to have heard the last part, but at this point it really didn’t matter. The stitch in her side was back with a vengeance, and it took the greater portion of her concentration to keep her legs moving and her eyes facing forward. What was meant to be a fun trip with her friends (and that was pretty cool, that this haphazard club was starting to become a group of people she could actually talk to and spend time with) was quickly devolving into yet another horrible mess. It hadn’t even been a _week_ since that awful night with the rats— seriously, wasn’t there some sort of limit on how often she could get caught up in these things? At this rate, maybe they’d be experiencing the final judgement before summer term even started!

(Look, her parents weren’t home often, so Kana had watched a lot of anime as a kid. They had the box set for Cardcaptor Sakura, and she may or may not have played the entire series about five times through. And dressed up as Sakura for Halloween one year. And saved up her allowance to buy the song collection CD. Either way, at this rate, she would’ve definitely taken the Clow Cards over what was happening — _they_ , at least, had never threatened certain death and/or molestation. Point one for magic cards, point zero for yōkai.)

But mental tangents into fantasy aside, her feet were really starting to hurt (ooh, she was going to have blisters for _days_ if this kept up), and the worry in her stomach coiled and clenched with each step. She didn’t doubt that Shirō was right about Rika being capable — she’d always been really good at P.E. (though she never wanted to join the cheer team, for some reason) and she was super smart to boot — but this soon after her sickness?

That just wasn’t fair, not in the least.

Rika always seemed so worn out, like there was something weighing on her that couldn’t be helped. Although showy makeup wasn’t allowed at school, Kana knew a couple of their classmates would borrow concealer to cover up the evidence of stress and sleepless nights — but the dark shadows under Rika’s eyes seemed to do nothing but grow deeper every year. Oh, sure, she still smiled and bantered and fixed up Jirō’s homework (he never had time to edit, between football and now the Paranormal Patrol, and Rika was _too damn nice_ ), but lately it had seemed like she barely even had the energy for that. Like whatever kept bothering her was just getting worse.

And ooh, Kana _hated_ it. Because Rika was her best friend, and some days it felt like Kana couldn’t do anything to help — she didn’t have lots of money like Kiyotsugu, or Jirō’s bottomless pit of contagious energy, or a bond as strong as the one Tsurara and Shirō (and even Zen too) shared with Rika. All Kana had were some childhood memories and a bit too much curiosity for her own good, and the latter only seemed to make things worse.

Why did Rika have to deal with these things, and why couldn’t Kana do anything to _help_?

“Zen! _Zen, please tell me she’s nearby—_ ”

Shirō’s shout startled her, and Kana refocused abruptly on her surroundings. She was greeted by the sight of Zen (he’d never told them his surname) leaning back against a tree with deceptive ease, brows creased and lips pulled down at the edges. As they drew nearer, she could make out Kiyotsugu and Jirō slumped against the base of the trunk as well, clearly either unconscious or asleep (though really, it wasn’t as though there was much of a difference). Rika’s jacket, dirt-smudged and unzipped, appeared to have been tossed haphazardly onto the ground nearby.

As they finally came to a stop, Zen straightened up and coughed absently into one hand before grimacing (Kana remembered the way he’d been coughing blood, that night she and Yura stayed at Rika’s house for dinner, and felt another small knot of worry form). “About twenty meters north of here, give or take a few.” He glanced over at her for a moment, then turned back to place a thin hand on Shirō’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on the kids, you go on ahead. Wait, hold on—”

“What are you— oh, thank the spirits!” Okay, was _no-one else_ going to be a little concerned that Zen had just pulled a _dagger_ (sheathed, thankfully) out of the pocket of his hoodie? Kana was starting to think she really needed to revise her opinion of how weird her friends were, because Shirō didn’t bat an eye before taking the proffered weapon and checking the sharpness of the blade. He looked almost ready to cry. “I realized on the way up she’d forgotten her sword, and I thought—”

Zen’s shrug had the look of someone trying to appear distinctly unconcerned, while actually being _very concerned indeed_. “Considering the territory, I didn’t want to go in unarmed. Not that I’m much good with it, but a tantō’s better than nothing if you’ve gotta fight. And better than a cheap _flashlight_ , no matter how heavy.” He scowled, and Kana wondered if Rika had gone off to fight— well, whatever she was fighting now— with that bulky flashlight Kiyotsugu had made such a show of bringing. “Hurry up— we’ll be behind you once these brats are awake.”

As Shirō ran off again, Kana took a few moments to catch her breath again and wonder if she should feel indignant on her friends’ behalf. Sure, they could be annoying sometimes, but _‘brats’_ still seemed a little rude, and—

No, you know what? They were absolutely brats, and as Zen set about searching the underbrush for something-or-other (she caught the utterance of ‘smelly’, and really didn’t want to hear anymore), Kana wondered if it was time for her to go looking for new friends. Maybe ones who _didn’t_ come with yōkai encounters and casual concealed weaponry.

"Oi, Ienaga! How about helping me wake those two up?"

(Even as she thought it, though, she knew she wouldn’t trade the friends she had now for anything in the world.)

* * *

 

_As strong as I am, even when I am weak._

 

* * *

Through the pain, Tsurara felt the world shift and still.

Gozumaru’s sword point quivered, held bare inches from Rikuo’s face only by the grace of the flashlight it had been impaled through. It was really a testament to how strong the strike had been, that it had pierced straight through rather than glancing off (and quite possibly leaving the Young Master with a few extra holes on the way out). Rikuo had lost both his jacket and hair-tie, and his hair was sticking to the thin sheen of sweat coating the back of his neck. He was there, so warm it was almost uncomfortable, and yet—

And yet, it was like he wasn’t really _there_ at all. Although she could see him, could see each breath in the rise and fall of his back, could almost feel the stray hairs tickling her nose — somehow, Tsurara couldn’t feel him at all. Not in a frightening way, but more like… like he was just a half-step away, and if she tried to touch him, her hand might just go right through.

But as the flashlight was wrenched out of his hands, one free arm immediately curled solidly around her shoulders. “Can you walk?”

Eying Gozumaru warily, Tsurara tested her injured foot and— ooh, that didn’t feel good. Nope, definitely a nope. But for her Young Master— “Not quickly, but I can manage.” Glancing back to meet his eyes ( _had they always been that odd, amber color?_ ), a chill shuddered along her spine that had nothing to do with her heritage. “But Master Rikuo, you’re not— you’re still human! I’m not— I’m not _doubting_ you,” The piece of his expression that had stilled eerily loosened, just a bit. “But against another yōkai, and without _that form—_ I can’t just leave you here alone!”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly what I would have chosen, either. No weapons, no magical yōkai form, fighting in a sports bra with a cotton stick shoved up my— hey, don’t _laugh_!”

That was a little harder said than done. Now that periods had been explained to her, the unpleasant misfortune of the situation was just over the edge of awful-enough-to-be-ridiculously-funny. Tsurara wasn’t always prone to laughter as a nervous reflex, but sometimes it was hard to resist. Here they were, in the middle of the woods, under attack, and Rikuo was still annoyed about blood coming out of the one place that was apparently _supposed_ to be producing it. More than Tsurara could say for herself, at the moment.

“This really is a laugh!” Across the clearing, Gozumaru rested his sword against his shoulder and smirked. The flashlight lay in pieces on the ground, and Tsurara vindictively hoped it had given him a little trouble. “This supposed heir to Nurarihyon, just a little human girl who has to be protected by a puny Yuki Onna trying to fill her mommy’s shoes— _aah_ , it makes me sick.”

In contradiction to his words, the corners of his lips only pulled wider. “Don’t you think a person like that is really just… _unnecessary?_ ”

The cold feeling that formed in Tsurara’s stomach was, for once, completely unrelated to her powers. If it hadn’t been for Rikuo’s arm tight around her shoulders, holding her in place, she might have attacked in spite of her current injuries (already icing over, to keep the blood _in_ and dirt _out_ ). She didn’t know Gozumaru personally, but she’d picked up enough around the main house — he was Gyūki’s official underboss, which meant it was very unlikely that this was a simple coup like the situation with Zen and Hebidayu. If the Gyūki clan’s second-in-command was attacking Rikuo like this, on their territory and with full knowledge of his status (and _hers_ , and _Zen’s_ — _where had Zen gone, anyways_ ), and Gyūki himself wasn’t intervening?

Her gut clenched. “Master Rikuo, that’s Gyūki’s underboss, Gozumaru. He’s— I don’t think this is a coincidence. I think he’s got orders, and if _that’s—_ ”

“If that’s true, then they probably came from Gyūki.” Rikuo’s expression, when she glanced up to look at it, was tight. “Explains a lot, don’t you think? Somehow, I don’t think this guy’ll just let us go find Gyūki and talk. Tsurara, can you do something for me?”

Well, _really_. “I’m offended you have to ask, Master Rikuo!”

“Hey, it was polite!” But his lips twitched into a grin, and even the murderous aura beginning to flood the area didn’t feel quite so heavy. “I want you to make me a weapon. It doesn’t have to be fancy, or big — even just a long stick would do. A long stick of the densest, strongest ice you can conjure. And then, I need you to go back to your disguise form, and retreat. No,” He cut off her instinctive protest sternly, eyes large and solemn behind his glasses (one lens cracked, _when had that happened_ ), “I know you want to help, and I wish you could. But you’re badly injured, and we don’t know if there are other Gyūki Clan subordinates out there. I need you to find Zen, and my friends, and help keep them safe.”

Tsurara wanted to argue. She wanted, so badly it _hurt_ , to hold on tight and not let go, not let him walk into another fight without her to guard his back. For all that she believed in him with every fibre of her being, Rikuo was still just a kid— even younger than her and Zen, and that was saying something — and sending him into these fights again and again just felt wrong. Maybe not wrong for real, _proper_ yōkai, but it felt wrong to her.

And that was without addressing the elephant in the room (clearing, whatever). That even though Fear was tangibly rising from his skin, even though his hair was being pulled upwards by an intangible breeze and his eyes were beginning to resemble golden mirrors — even still, his yōkai form was nowhere to be seen.

Ooh, she didn’t want to leave him alone. She wanted to keep him close and protect him, just as she had since he was very small and heartbreakingly happy. But the Yuki Onna, Oikawa Tsurara, was his aide and his friend. She was going to trust Rikuo’s judgement, and do what he’d asked her to do. ( _He was the leader she had already known she would follow forever, after all_ ). “As soon as we know your friends are safe, I’m coming back for you. You got that?”

Pearly light glimmered off of the facets of the crude, heavy spear forming in her hands, and reflected the warm glow of his eyes. “Thanks, Tsurara. If you find Zen, let him know it’s definitely Gyūki. If he can get a message out to the Sanba-Garasu— well, maybe we’ll be able to get out of this whole, after all.”

Determinedly not considering the possibility of what would happen if they _didn’t_ , Tsurara forced herself to nod firmly and press the ice weapon into Rikuo’s waiting hands. Almost immediately, it was tugged out of her grasp as he turned and pulled it into an overhead block, the ice screeching under Gozumaru’s sword but holding firm. Although she dearly wanted to remain nearby, ready to be at his side in a heartbeat, Rikuo’s words echoed in her ears and she forced herself to turn and run into the woods.

Behind her, she could hear the sound of cruel, mocking laughter.

It took a few moments to remember she was supposed to put her disguise back on, and a few moments more to pull together enough energy to reform it. The stains on her clothes hadn’t transferred over, but Tsurara could already see fresh blood starting to seep slowly through her shirt along the shoulder seam and side, and could feel it steadily soaking into her sock — she’d lost the ice sealing the injuries when she transformed, and now she might not have enough energy left to conjure more. Better to do what Rikuo had said — find Zen, find the humans. Do her best to fulfill Rikuo’s request, because he was her _Master_ and her _friend_ and she was going to _damn well believe in him_.

“Tsurara!”

The call caught her off-guard, and it took her a few moments to focus on Kubinashi’s face as he came into view, hurrying through the brush from further up the slope. _What in the world—_ “What are you doing here? I thought you’d stayed in Ukiyoe! And— is that a knife? Where did you get that?”

“Zen brought it. The Sanba-Garasu, they found— I can’t explain it all right now,” And that was believable, considering that his hair was windswept and his eyes flickering unsteadily between the amber of his disguise and their natural blue. For Kubinashi to be losing control like that, he had to be really upset, “But Gyūki was behind Kyūso, and he’s behind this too, and I had to— Tsurara, where’s Rikuo? _Is he okay?_ ”

And this, this was good. She could do what he’d asked, and still send help — Kubinashi wasn’t injured, after all, and was both better at offense and more experienced than her. Against Gozumaru, he might be helpful. “He’s back that way— I made him a weapon, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold. We were— he’s fighting Gozumaru, Gyūki’s second.” Kubinashi swore, and she found herself bitterly echoing the sentiment. “Master Rikuo told me to find Zen and the others, can you—”

“ _Yes_ , of course.” After years of guard duty together, it was both a blessing and a curse to understand each other so easily. Right now, definitely a blessing. Kubinashi turned and paused, pursing his lips and glancing at her. “—make sure Zen looks at your injuries. Rikuo needs you too.”

Before Tsurara could respond, he was running off towards the fight — it seemed to have moved further into the woods, away from her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Rikuo was leading Gozumaru in that direction on purpose.

No time to ponder it, though. She turned and gritted her teeth against the pain, forcing her feet to keep moving one after the other in the closest thing to a run she could manage. She had to find Zen and the humans, and make sure they were okay. Because they were just humans ( _kids, even younger than her_ ), and Zen was great with medicine but lousy at combat, and Rikuo had asked her to ensure that they were safe.

So she was going to do that, _no matter what_.

* * *

 

_I will not allow you to break me down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay! Spring term ended up kicking my ass just like the rest, and I've been busy setting up a personal project for the summer. However, good news! This chapter is up, and I'm confident I'll be able to have the next chapter finished and posted as well within a week or two!
> 
> Funny enough, this chapter was supposed to also include Rikuo's fight with Gyūki. However, I decided I actually wanted to make that part its own chapter, as well as (possibly) Rikuo's meeting with the Board. Right now, it's over 5k and I haven't even quite finished off the part on Mt. Nejireme, so I think I made the right call. (If I'd kept the fight here, this chapter would have been around 12k! Way longer than any of the others so far, haha!)
> 
> Also, a question!!
> 
> Because this fic involves pretty much the entire cast (eventually), I've been keeping the character tags restricted to group tags and Rikuo. However, would you all prefer if I went and tagged all the characters who've played major roles as well? (Alternatively, if you want to comment the characters you think should be tagged, that would be fine as well).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your support! :)


	14. judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter does contain Rikuo's fight with Gyūki. It references the Kyūso incident directly (so there is a mention of the threats of sexual assault), and does have some pieces of writing that deal with the concept of suicide and suicidal ideation. There isn't anything explicit, but I did think it would be prudent to warn you.**
> 
> **If there are any specific segments people want or would recommend a skip-line for, please let me know in the comments!**

Frankly, the painkiller couldn’t have chosen a worse time to wear off.

Rikuo did his best to swallow the twinge of regret as he turned away from Gozumaru’s still, bloody form (not dead, just unconscious and missing a few of those grotesque claws). He hadn’t really wanted to permanently injure him — attacker or not, Gozumaru was following orders. Stupid, _stupid_ orders, but orders nonetheless, and Rikuo could respect that. So he’d held back, using the knife Kubinashi had tossed his way only on the claws, and smacking his assailant on the head with Tsurara’s spear (more like a club, really, considering its weight and girth) instead. Nothing that couldn’t be mended with time — assuming the rest of this disaster could still be salvaged _without_ expelling and/or annihilating Gyūki’s entire clan.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t entirely off the table yet.

Another flare of pain shot across his abdomen and he winced, pressing a hand against the area and leaning briefly against a tree.

“Rikuo, are you alright?” There were hands on his shoulders in an instant, sharp concern laced through Kubinashi’s voice. The older yōkai had completely abandoned his disguised form, head floating free and thread wound tight around his fingers. “Did he injure you? Zen’s just downhill, we can—”

Grimacing, Rikuo shook his head and forced himself to breathe. In, out. _In, out._ “It’s not something Zen can fix at the moment, and there’s no time besides. I have to go confront Gyūki _now_.” The temperature coating his skin seemed to dip and flare, sinking to a Tsurara-worthy chill before flickering hot and unpleasant again, and he couldn’t quite repress a shiver. “Look, either you can follow me, or you can go back and make sure everyone else is okay.”

Kubinashi’s expression was tight and tense, brows furrowed inward and lips thin. “Are you sure—”

“That I can take him? Of course not.” Why wasn’t he transforming? This heat, the energy he could feel under his skin— it should have lead straight into that elusive yōkai form, instead of leaving him in this situation. It was like his blood couldn’t decide whether it was boiling or crystallizing, flickering between the two states at random. There was Fear twisting between his fingertips and a breeze on his neck despite the lack of wind, but when Rikuo glanced down his chest was still the same unfortunate ( _disgusting_ ) shape it had always been. It wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ stop him. “But I have to. If he has a problem with me, I have to figure it out.”

He’d already resumed climbing, resolutely following the path Kurōmaru had pointed out when the tengu reported in (and handed him his sword, which was a small boon). The pain in his abdomen didn’t recede, but the ache in his calves and the constant scratching and tickling of the underbrush almost managed to make it fade into the background. Gozumaru hadn’t gotten in any serious hits, but the force behind his blows had left Rikuo’s arms and back more than ready to join the body-wide muscle protest. So really, the cramps were seeming like the least of his problems.

Behind him, Kubinashi’s voice took on a reluctant tone. “You can’t even wait for the rest of us to join you? Going alone, especially like this—”

“Like _what_.” Not quite managing to keep the sharpness out of his response, Rikuo refused to acknowledge the sudden tightness in his throat. Forcing his eyes to stay on the path ahead, rather than let what he was really feeling show there— that was a bit harder. And when Kubinashi didn’t respond, the urge to snap became harder still to quench. “Go on, then. _Like what?_ ”

The woods remained silent.

Maybe it had been too naïve to hope that for once, just fucking once, he wouldn’t have to deal with this. It had to be past eleven by now, his uterus was trying to revolt, he was sore and exhausted and hadn’t eaten since the Shinkansen, and he simply _didn’t have the energy_. It wasn’t like he had limitless patience. “You realize that I’m the one who wants this body the _least_ , right? Do you at least get that much?”

Keeping his voice level was not easy, and the bite in it was harsh even to his own ears. “Look, as much as I would _love_ to have full control over when I can have a body that I don’t want to literally tear to bloody shreds, it’s clearly not happening right now. I am tired, and hungry, and in a distracting amount of pain, and if I’m not letting that stop me, then my stupid body isn’t going to either. So I’m going to go face Gyūki, and _fight him if I have to_ , and meanwhile you can make up your mind about whether or not you actually want to follow me.” That wasn’t fair, he knew that, but between the coddling (he’d been _sick_ , not on his fucking deathbed) and the ridiculous inconsistencies, Rikuo was just about done. “And if you want to _stop_ me, you’ll have to fight for that.”

Even though his body was small and soft and human, he had no trouble pushing off of the ground and breaking into a run through the trees. Kubinashi didn’t follow; there were no echoing footsteps, or even the rustling of leaves that nobody — not even a yōkai as well-practiced in stealth as Kubinashi — could avoid disturbing, and Rikuo resolutely refused to feel disappointed.

Right now, as things were, he couldn’t afford to let it get to him. If he didn’t want to end up the same way he had after fighting Kyūso, he had to keep a tight rein on his energy levels. That meant not wasting any on worrying about problems that wouldn’t matter if he didn’t survive this encounter.

(Although, to be fair, if he died fighting Gyūki, he wouldn’t have to keep exhausting himself pushing against the doubt and the worry any longer. And if he was dead, it wouldn’t matter that his body was wrong either.)

( _He should probably stop thinking along those lines._ )

Gyūki’s main house soon came into view, looming dark and foreboding in the moonlight, and Rikuo paused at the edge of the tree-line to catch his breath. Considering that he’d been running uphill through the forest, the fatigue seemed strangely minor. The Fear was still there too, fluttering under his skin and burning like molten glass. Maybe this was his body’s way of adapting? It certainly seemed like he was gaining all of the effects of his yōkai form — the heightened senses and overall abilities, the Fear, the narrow focus — down to the phantom wind that kept lifting his hair away from his neck. Everything except the actual physical body.

Perhaps it was something about his state — like, maybe this particular point in his menstrual cycle somehow interfered with the full transformation. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but made a bit of sense. The cramps still hadn’t let up, after all, and he wasn’t even sure it was physically _possible_ to transform fully with a tampon in. Ugh. One more reason to keep better track of the dates. And always have pads on hand.

_Come on, Rikuo. No dawdling._ He pushed down the twinge of nausea (why did his luck have to be _so bad_ this month), readied one hand at the hilt of his sword (tucked through a convenient belt-loop — one benefit of cargo shorts), and made his way slowly into the building.

It looked old, far older than the Nura main house, and yet far better maintained. For a brief moment, Rikuo allowed himself an internal gripe — why couldn’t Nurarihyon and the executives put more care into maintaining the rest of the main house, so it would be more like this? The hallways were empty and clean, with only the barest layer of dust along the walls. Everything felt at once more spacious and more enclosed than home, like the absence of things itself was pressing inwards to suffocate all those who entered. Whether it was the lack of clutter or the lack of small yōkai, always underfoot and energetic, Rikuo wasn’t sure. (He _wanted_ , very abruptly and with a sharp pang, to be back home again).

It took a bit of searching on quiet feet to find Gyūki. The old yōkai was seated in seiza in one of the corner rooms, apparently deep in thought, and Rikuo felt a flicker of bitterness. How was it fair for that guy to send his underlings to attack not just Rikuo, but his friends as well? Most of them were just humans, they weren’t even involved in the issue. It seemed madly unfair, and he took a few moments to compose himself before drawing his sword and stepping into the room.

“What’s on your mind, hm?”

The expression on Gyūki’s typically placid face, when he turned to look at Rikuo, flickered through what looked like several emotions before setting on slightly furrowed brows and pressed-thin lips. “So you’ve come, as expected. And yet, in that form— though you have your grandfather’s blood, it does not seem to flow so true.”

_Wow, rude._ Someone who had been a yōkai for over a thousand years was judging _him_ , not even thirteen yet, on how true his blood was flowing? Yeah, forget flowing, it was boiling now. Rikuo leveled his sword at the old yōkai’s throat, because this needed to go quickly and he didn’t have the time or patience for someone with the speed of an aged bull. “Cut the crap, Gyūki. Why are you in such a damn hurry to kill me? Everyone always makes a big deal of how slow you are, and yet this seems pretty hasty.” The echo of Kuromaru’s report resounded in the back of his mind, and although he didn’t want to believe it— “Don’t tell me you were behind Kyūso too.”

Amber eyes narrowed in his direction. “Have you defeated Gozumaru, then?” Without responding to the question or accusation, Gyūki’s lips pulled into something not quite a smirk, but similar. “He was under directions to slay one of those close to you — that aide, or perhaps one of your human companions — to trigger your yōkai form.” His gaze, cool and critical, flickered across Rikuo’s body. “It seems he has failed. What will it take, I wonder, for you to change? Sufficient threat, proper timing, more willpower than you’ve managed to summon— please, enlighten me.”

“I asked you a _question_.” It wasn’t the smart decision to make, but Rikuo scowled and twitched his sword closer to the unguarded skin just below Gyūki’s jawline. “Or would you rather I just behead you here—”

Cold metal bit into the side of his neck, and Rikuo paused. He hadn’t even seen Gyūki move, and yet suddenly there was another sword positioned to mirror his own. Wasn’t there some term in English media for this sort of thing? _(Now really wasn’t the time — if he survived, maybe he could ask Jirō, he seemed like he’d be into foreign movies and stuff)_. The blade was pressed against his skin, but there wasn’t any sensation of pain — just the coolness of the blade, providing a surprisingly welcome relief from the constant heat.

Steel glinted, not only in the form of swords, but in the chill of Gyūki’s eyes. “You should answer my questions, child. Clearly, one by one, and if your answers are incomplete or dissatisfying, I will not hesitate to sever your ear — or, perhaps, an arm.” The lines of his face were stony and merciless. “You are not the only one here prepared to take a head.”

Outside, the wind whistled, and a bolt of lightning split the skies. The candles flickered, and Rikuo idly hoped that if it began to rain, it would wait until his friends were all back inside to do so. Really, they should all have gone to bed by now— humans needed rest.

In the silence, he allowed himself to imagine that the coolness of Gyūki’s sword was washing over his body to sooth the restless heat of his blood. He breathed — _in, and out_. Should he be afraid? Even trying to think about it, the fear just wasn’t coming. It wasn’t like Rikuo wanted to die — at least, he didn’t _think_ he did — but compared to what he’d already gone through, a clean confrontation just wasn’t that alarming. It wasn’t Gagoze, bestial and delighting in his ability to slaughter defenseless children. Nor was it that night at Zen’s house, running through the fire and terrified that he’d find not a friend, but a corpse. Gyūki’s ultimatum, despite his strength and experience, just didn’t incite the sort of flickering, nauseating horror that Kyūso’s threat of rape had.

(It was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the smell of copper masking the scent of flowers, a girl smiling, and the sound of a voice that couldn’t have been his asking why Dad wasn’t waking up.)

“Tell me, then.” Gyūki’s voice cut through the stillness, and Rikuo masked the utterly inappropriate urge to laugh. “Why is it that you have not taken your yōkai form?”

_Oh boy_. May as well at least give his conjecture. If he was really lucky, Gyūki might be grossed out the way most men seemed to, and would stop this ridiculous mess. “Well, I’m not all too sure, but I bet it has something to do with the blood coming out of my uterus right now. You know, _messy human stuff_. Never happened before, but—” Shrugging with a sword pressed against his neck was difficult, but Rikuo did his best approximation, “—there’s a first for everything, right?”

The old yōkai’s expression remained distinctly unimpressed. _Oh well._ “And had you taken that form, would you have forgotten your experiences as a yōkai, come morning?”

Slowly, the thoughts and idle wonderings that had been swirling through Rikuo’s mind began to coalesce. Maybe this (meaning his body, not whatever Gyūki was trying to pull) wasn’t as complicated as they were making it out to be. _Maybe._ “I mean, it’s happened before. Scientific theory would suggest—”

Thunder cracked along with another flash of lighting outside, and Rikuo winced as the sword against his neck twitched. Gyūki’s face looked colder than Tsurara’s ice in winter. “I will ask you once again— Can you unleash your yōkai form at will, or not?” ( _Since when had that been what he was asking? Sometimes, Rikuo really did feel like he’d been dropped into a different era, with how everyone kept talking_ ) “If your two forms do not possess the same memories, does that then mean that your yōkai and human selves are completely different individuals?”

Rikuo fought the urge to grimace. It was hardly fair, throwing questions at him like that as though he didn’t want the answers just as badly as the next guy. And yet— and _yet_ , hadn’t he just been reflecting on Gagoze and Hebidayu’s betrayal? Hadn’t he _just_ been recalling the memories of Zen’s house that night, an event he really shouldn’t have been able to remember? (And this wasn’t the first time — suddenly, Rikuo remembered the unpleasant nightmares that had plagued him during his fever. _Memories_ , not just dreams. Maybe they’d only seemed as such because he thought they would feel, somehow, _different._ )

He grinned, tilting his head to the side and— ow, right, sword. Forgot that bit. “You know, Gyūki, you seem awfully caught up in—”

_“Answer my questions, you fool!”_

Lightning glinted in Gyūki’s eyes as rage washed over his features, and the blade bit abruptly into the side of Rikuo’s neck. Heavy, ominous Fear choked the room, and the candles died in puffs of smoke. Shapes appeared along the darkened walls, looming and not-quite-alive, but not-quite-dead.

Rikuo barely noticed when Gyūki pulled away, a cottony buzzing filling his ears as unpleasantly familiar forms lunged forward in attack. Gagoze, Hebidayu, Kyūso — except it _couldn’t_ be them, because they were dead — _they had to be, because he’d already killed them all._ He drew his sword and bisected Gagoze easily, and _remembered_. (It hadn’t been so clean, the first time). Their voices hummed and mocked, and he heard none of it as his blade cut through Hebidayu and the (traitorous) snake vanished into smoke. (If he hadn’t been so terrified for Zen, the first time around, Rikuo would have almost enjoyed it).

Kyūso’s rats clawed at his arms and legs, biting into the flesh beneath the hem of his shirt and shorts and he shredded them, _couldn’t let them get too close_. (They’d tried to make him prey, they’d tried to make his friends prey, _disgusting vermin_ ). He didn’t scream, but he knew (with terrible, bright understanding) why Kana had begun wearing her tights again even though she’d been saying since primary school that she hated them.

Were these Gyūki’s Fear? Or Rikuo’s memories? Because he could— he could _remember_ , now. The clarity was dizzying (or maybe that was the lack of food and rest), and a part of him wondered why he had ever forgotten. It wasn’t like it was another person, after all— nothing like what Gyūki had suggested. It was just… _him_. It had always been him, for better or for worse.

A breeze twisting through the smoke carried the scent of blood and kerria in bloom, and he froze.

_They couldn’t have that_.

These memories, these deaths — they were his weight to carry, a grisly badge of yōkai honor. Rikuo didn’t care if Gyūki wanted to use them against him, because he didn’t regret a single one of them. Gagoze, child-killer, ready to tear apart frightened children _just to prove a point_. Hebidayu, traitorous, burning his Master and his Sect to the ground in the interest of power ( _nearly robbing Rikuo of a dear friend, unforgivable_ ). Kyūso, slimy and malicious, delighted by the thought of assaulting and killing two young girls solely because they were Rikuo’s friends. There was no way he would ever feel a single drop of regret for those deaths, so it didn’t matter if Gyūki pulled them out of the depths of his subconscious.

But the aroma of flowers and the tinge of copper, he wasn’t allowed to touch that. Nobody was, nobody had the right to wield those memories as a weapon against him ( _not when they already cut too deep, every moment he let up his guard_ ). The fury in his blood boiled over, and Rikuo could barely make out Gyūki’s raised voice over the thundering heartbeat in his ears. Cold prickled against his skin, where he’d stored the remains of Tsurara’s ice staff, and it took barely a whim to let the remnant of her loaned Fear flow alongside his own. Spears of ice, sharp and refracting cold light, burst outward from his sword — and the specters froze and shattered into scintillating fragments.

“That technique—”

Oh, had Gyūki been waiting for something like this? Rikuo turned to face the old yōkai, baring his teeth in what felt like a mockery of a grin. “Is that what this is, Gyūki? Some kind of fucking _test_?” Gyūki maintained a battle-ready stance, for which Rikuo was grateful — forget his body, he needed to fight something right now. “Listen up. I don’t  _care_ what you think. Yōkai or human, it doesn’t matter— I am going to succeed my father as the Third Commander of the Nura Syndicate! And if I have to do it in this body, then _so be it!_ ”

Gyūki’s blade cracked against his, and Rikuo winced at the strain in his arms. They really hadn’t been kidding, all those people who’d warned him about Gyūki’s strength — he wasn’t really sure he could actually keep up this fight for long, no matter how much each clash made his blood sing.

Apparently, it was clear to his opponent as well, because the anger in Gyūki’s expression formed deeper, darker shadows. “Too _weak—_ is this all you have? How do you expect to lead, at this level? You are weak!”

“ _What_ , then?” A harsh blow had Rikuo biting down sharply on his tongue, and he tasted blood. Not really a pleasant addition to his already roiling stomach. “After you kill me here, what happens then?” How was killing him supposed to lead to the betterment of his clan, his family? (If Gyūki could give him a good reason, _perhaps then—_ )

“After I kill you, I will take my own life.”

The blade tore sharply through cloth and skin, trailing a redness that glinted in the pale light, and Rikuo clenched his jaw in order to keep from screaming. It was a hot, jagged pain that drowned out even the heat of his blood, and he forced himself to pivot on one heel and return the blow — with what strength he had remaining, and perhaps a little extra — while Gyūki’s guard was down.

_Shit_ , this was bad. His shoulder was screaming in agony, so loud he couldn't even hear the thunder of his fury, and blood continued to bubble thickly over his fingers when he pressed his free hand to the injury. And yet, Rikuo could still feel his heart racing (which probably wasn’t good for the whole bleeding issue), because— “You’re fucking _kidding_ me, right?”

Mouth opened, caught in the middle of his monologue (what was it with yōkai and monologues, anyways), Gyūki broke off and fell silent. Oh, so _now_ he was ready to stop and listen? Maybe it was just the ugly-looking slash that had opened up across his chest, not as deep as the one carving through Rikuo’s shoulder but brutal nonetheless (a part of him felt coldly, _deeply_ satisfied). Well, he had better stand there and keep listening, and so help him if he interrupted with some bullshit again Rikuo was going to _slice him fucking open_.

Breath was coming harder and harsher, and he had to practically bite the words out. “I knew you were old, but I thought you were supposed to be intelligent! But _no_! You’re just as fucking ridiculous as the rest of them!” Affront tinted Gyūki’s expression, and Rikuo frankly didn’t care. “You know, you could have successfully goaded me into agreeing to death if you’d just had a decent fucking _plan_! If you’d proved to me that it would protect everyone, I would have been more than willing to fall on my own damn blade and save you the trouble! But _no_ , apparently your moronic plot is to rid the clan of both the heir to Nurarihyon’s Fear, _and_ its entire Western front!”

“I will not allow anyone to destroy—”

“You’re a goddamned _hypocrite_ , Gyūki!” Maybe it was a little cruel, but Rikuo didn’t have the energy to feel bad for striking the older yōkai in the chest and shoving him backwards. The snapping sound as Gyūki allowed himself to crash into the wooden shrine was unnecessarily satisfying. “What are you trying to fucking prove? That I’m too human, that I’m not good enough? That I’m not capable of leading us back into greatness?” Something in his stomach churned unpleasantly, and the dull throb of his cramps made itself abruptly known. “If you and the rest of the fucking Board had given me even half a chance, I wouldn’t have to prove this to you! But no, you’re all too scared to support a leader who’s different, even though you followed Dad and _his_ human blood for literal centuries!”

And maybe this wasn’t what Gyūki had been looking for, but at this point there were wingbeats outside and blood on his hands, and Rikuo was _too goddamn tired_. “None of you want to support me because of my human blood, because of this disgusting fucking body, because you think I’m going to kill myself before I have a chance to die for your sakes! You all want a leader who’s immediately the same as my father, but you’re not giving me the chance to fill his shoes even though I'm the closest fucking thing you're going to get!”

“Young Master!”

“ _Rikuo!_ ”

Hands brushed against his uninjured shoulder and he smacked them away. “I’m not— _don’t touch me!_ I’m not fucking done here!”

Silence fell over the room, punctuated only by the rumble of thunder and the soft rustle of feathers. Rikuo breathed in, and out ( _in, and out_ ), and forced his feet to carry him across the floor in order to level his sword-point at Gyūki’s unguarded throat. The old yōkai didn’t resist. “You wanted to know whether or not my yōkai and human forms are different people. Well, they’re not. I’ve been me, and no-one else, every single time. I know what I did to Gagoze, and Hebidayu, and Kyūso, and I don’t regret _any of it_. Maybe I think differently when my blood is awake, but there isn’t any other person in my body. The ‘me’ standing here before you is the same fucking person that awoke five years ago.”

The warring emotions on Gyūki’s face stilled, settling back into his more characteristic stoicism. “And you believe that you can protect the Nura Syndicate, as you are? You are foolish, holding such ambitions without allowing yourself to abandon this humanity.”

“And you’re an antique better suited to the past than the future.” Weariness hit both soft and sharp, and Rikuo let his blade shift sideways and sink into the wood beside Gyūki’s neck with a loud crack. Hey, bonus points for accidental intimidation tactics, maybe. He hoped it would keep them from noticing that the sword was actually barely keeping him upright. “Humanity failed you, I get that. They fail each other _all the goddamn time_ , just look at all the people like me! We’re driven to suicide in droves, just because other people decide we’re wrong or lesser, because we're _different_.”

Something caught in his throat, and with a start Rikuo realized there were tears beginning to build up in the corners of his eyes. Damn it, that wasn’t going to help his case here at all. No way would Gyūki ever manage to respect him if he started crying. Behind him, someone cleared their throat as though to speak, but he cut the sound off. For once, they were going to _damn well_ let him speak.

“And you know what else? Humanity is fucking _beautiful_.” Below him, Gyūki’s eyes were the one feature still welling with emotion. Disbelief, and anger, and confusion, and it struck Rikuo that this could be his last chance to convince the old yōkai. “They’ve come so far from where they were when you were little, Gyūki. Humans have — they’ve created so many wonders. Horrors, too, but even those are magnificent in their own ways. If you actually look at everything they’ve done, you almost have to close your eyes against the brightness. Asking me to give that up is like saying we should abandon all of the human developments that have aided us throughout our history, just because they were created by a ‘lesser species’.”

Heat pricked at his eyes, and a few tears escaped in spite of his best attempts to blink them away. The thickness in his throat seemed to have grown. “And— and you know what? One of those humans down there that you tried to kill, she’s an onmyōji. She’s our sworn enemy, and yet she’s shown the ability to learn and grow. And—”

Why was he even saying this? No-one was going to care, and yet—

“And she knows who I am. Not what, _who_. Me, _Rikuo—_ she knows that, and she didn’t walk away.” A laugh forced its way out of his throat, harsh and cracked, and when rough hands fell on his shoulder this time he didn’t push them away. “She’s a human, a _child_ , and yet she’s already supported me better than most of the board. So tell me, Gyūki — if this _humanity_ of mine can bring me more loyalty than yōkai like you have shown, why should I ever throw it away?”

Gyūki’s breathing, below him, was heavy and slow, and Rikuo tried to force his exhausted lungs to match the pace. It wouldn’t make a very good impression to pass out again, so he forced himself to stand upright and pull his sword from the wood. Kubinashi’s hand, warm and steady, supported him as he stepped back and sheathed his sword. In his periphery, he saw Kuromaru move forward, and held out a hand in spite of his shoulder’s violent protest.

“Leave him be.”

“Master Rikuo, with all due respect, _he—_ ”

Spots were swimming in front of his eyes from the pain, but Rikuo forced his vision to focus and shook his head. “He only acted on what none of the other Board members dared to. It was bound to happen eventually, because I’m like this.” Fun, he couldn’t actually tell whether his shoulder or his stomach was hurting more now. It would probably be a good idea to leave before he puked on Gyūki’s floor. “As long as we don’t say anything, it’ll be fine.” Gods, he was so tired. “His reasoning is flawed, but he does seem to want what’s best for the Syndicate, and there’s no way I’m going to punish that— as long as he _listens_ to me.”

Wood creaked behind him, and he turned to watch as Gyūki stood. “Oi, Kubinashi, take his sword.”

“—why, Rikuo?”

_Was that really a question?_ “Because you said you were going to kill yourself, and considering your apparent reasoning process, I don’t trust you not to.” Disbelief took the primary spot in the old yōkai’s expression, and Rikuo sighed. “Look, what you did was stupid, but I guess you had good intentions, and it's not like I died. Your subordinates clearly care about you, to follow your orders for something this ridiculous — it wouldn’t be fair for you to abandon them either. And we need you, Gyūki.” On his shoulder, Kubinashi’s fingers tapped a gentle, repeating mantra of reassurance. “If you can find it in yourself to support me, I really think it would be for the better of the clan we both care so much about.”

“Rikuo—”

“But if you kill yourself,” He pressed on, because he needed be as clear as he could before leaving, because this might be the only chance he would ever get, “You’ll only be hurting everything and everyone you’ve tried to protect. And maybe that’s the yōkai way of doing things, but it’s not going to get you anywhere. You’d be doing nothing but running away, and _I don’t—_ if I’m doing my best to live as I am, with what I can do, I don’t see how you have any right to even _consider_ suicide.”

_Because I’m not._

Silence remained heavy in the air as Kubinashi nudged his shoulder gently, guiding him out of the building and leaving Kuromaru to deal with the rest of the situation. They managed to reach the edge of the forest proper before Rikuo had to brace his good arm against one of the trees and retch into the bushes, legs shaking so badly he thought he might fall over. It was as though everything that had ever filled his body was drained empty, leaving just the shell of a person, and yet at the same time he felt like a weight had finally (if momentarily) lifted from his shoulders. He’d finally gotten to speak. No-one had interrupted, or stepped in to drain his anger away before he’d finished letting himself acknowledge it. He’d been able to speak until his words ran dry, and someone had for once waited and listened.

_Because I’m not._

“I’m bringing you to Zen, okay? Hey— hey, stay awake, alright? Shit, what was Gyūki _thinking—_ ” Firm arms wrapped around him and lifted him into the air, and hadn’t that happened before? But there was no banter, no light-hearted complaining veiling the concern underneath. Just the chill of the night and the roughness of Kubinashi’s hands against his arm, and the feeling of his heartbeat pulsing in every fibre of his body. “—absolutely inappropriate, making such a challenge of a child. Hey, eyes open, okay?”

Rikuo groaned. “Just let me pass out in peace, why don’t you?”

“Last time I let you pass out in peace, you were delirious with fever for twenty-seven hours.” The wind picked up speed — oh, never mind, Kubinashi had just started running. Rikuo sure hoped he still had his scarf pinned in place. If they ran into any of the others, a floating head would be pretty tough to explain. Besides, it wasn’t as though there would be any harm in resting his eyes for a bit. He’d nearly died, that should’ve earned him at least a nap.

_Because I’m not._

Dimly, he heard a familiar shriek of alarm. Kana— _what was she doing out here, why wasn’t she back at the villa? Was she okay?_ Her exclamations petered out quickly, replaced by the particularly sharp tone Zen always used when he was worried. Oh, he should probably send Zen or— or someone, to make sure Gyūki and Gozumaru were treated. He didn’t want them dying.

“ _—the hell happened?_ Damn it, I should have fucking known— come on, get up, we’re going back now— _Shit_ , that’s a lot of blood.”

Somehow, it took a lot of effort to sign with his good hand (the one that was still kind of covered in blood, _oops_ ), but he managed what felt like the approximation of a coherent message. Or at least, got most of the way through before distinct, bony fingers wrapped around his own firmly. Well, that was kind of rude. He’d been _talking_.

“Yeah, don’t worry, we’ll make sure someone takes care of them. _Just—_ just take it easy, damn it.”

Okay, that was good. That way, no-one was going to die here. Rikuo had already killed a bunch of people anyways, but loyal people were worth keeping alive. And Gyūki was _old_ , which meant he knew a lot of stuff — sure, some of it was outdated as all hell, but that was a whole bunch of knowledge Rikuo knew he’d have a hard time finding elsewhere. Better for him to stay alive, better for the clan. Keep the Western border strong, hold onto old alliances, and—

And Gyūki didn’t get to just call quits and run away by dying. He didn’t get to take the easy way out.

_Because I’m not._

_Or, at least, I don’t think I am._

 

* * *

 

“Do you remember them?”

Rikuo paused, one hand (well, his only hand at the moment, as Zen had ordered him to keep the other in a sling while the injured parts of his shoulder healed) resting on the doorframe as he turned to look over his shoulder. “Do I remember who? The people I’ve killed?” He grimaced, forcing himself to breathe in and out. The question would have come sooner or later, and it had been two days since Mt. Nejireme. “It’s not like I could forget something like that. Well, not anymore.”

One eyebrow arched slowly, and Gyūki fixed him with a considering gaze. “You believe the nature of your change has shifted, then?”

“Well, I guess I can’t be sure yet.” He could only shrug with one the shoulder (Zen might usually seem laid-back, but he could be astonishingly strict when it came to treating patients), so he did his best approximation of the motion. “But I remember them now, and I couldn’t before. I think whatever happened up there— it’s sort of like everything _except_ my body shifted. And I think maybe that sort of clicked things into place, because I’d been sort of thinking of the ‘me’ with this body and the ‘me’ with that one as different entities until then.” He grimaced. “I guess I wanted to believe that there was a version of me that wasn’t like this. But it’s all the same— I’m no different in that form than in this one, and I figure that maybe _I_ had to realize that for everything to fit together.”

Glancing back up at the older yōkai, Rikuo managed something like a grin. “So I guess I kind of owe you for that, Gyūki. If you hadn’t tried to kill me that night, maybe it wouldn’t have turned out like this, and I’d still be stuck not knowing why my dysphoria randomly gets worse after nights I can’t remember.” It hadn’t happened this time, because his body hadn’t changed, but now that he could recall the feelings that always accompanied the shift?

Now he could understand.

“Dysphoria?”

“Ah, sorry.” The grin this time was much easier to wear, and he finished pushing the door open to bathe the room in sunlight before turning around fully. “It’s, um. Because this body isn’t the one my mind is supposed to have, I always have this feeling of wrongness about it.” One hand wasn’t much, but he gestured to the general area of his waist and chest with only a slight twinge of displeasure. “Sometimes it’s not too bad, like today, so I can kind of ignore it. But whenever I wake up after transforming, it gets _really_ bad. You know, I feel nauseous, I get this urge to really hurt myself—”

_Hm, maybe hold up and rewind there._ Rikuo sighed. “Sorry, that’s probably too much information. Not all that encouraging, for a future leader.”

Gyūki’s expression shifted to something thoughtful. “It is interesting. What you describe reminds me, somewhat, of a feeling I recall experiencing in the years after I changed into a yōkai. Have you ever discussed this at length with the others among the clan who have a similar past?”

“Like Kubinashi and Kejōrō?”

“Setsura as well, I believe. And your destruction monk, Aotabō.” Placid amber considered Rikuo calmly, and Gyūki took a slow sip of the tea Wakana had brought by the room earlier. “There are not as many of us in the older generations, I believe. It is easier, some think, for those who were born human to lose their resolve.”

That was interesting. Had Rikuo known Setsura was originally a human? He knew Tsurara was born a yōkai — so would that make her a second-generation yōkai? Were they supposed to keep track of that sort of thing? “What do you mean, resolve?”

“Will to survive.” A pensive edge entered the old yōkai’s expression, and he took another sip of tea before continuing. “The belief is that yōkai who were created from humans, rather than born of stories only, will always maintain some aspect of that humanity in their natures. Kubinashi, for example, has an inclination towards stronger emotions than many yōkai would express.” That much, as far as Rikuo could tell, was pretty true. Even compared to younger yōkai, Kubinashi often tended to be particularly reactive. “However, the most common expression of this humanity is a tendency for shorter lifespans than those with no such tie.”

For a few minutes, Rikuo let the information simmer, drinking his own tea (it wouldn’t be as good once it got cool, after all) and watching the liquid swirl. “So you’re saying that yōkai who were originally humans die earlier than those who weren’t… because of their humanity?”

“It is a factor, though I personally believe it is also caused by the manner in which their stories are continued.”

“Their stories?”

“Indeed.” Looking sideways to consider Rikuo with his visible eye, Gyūki seemed to be reevaluating some part of his impression. For better or worse, it was hard to tell. “All yōkai are created from the stories of humans. For many of us, these stories are based around simple myths, objects, or locations. For a rare few, they are based on true individuals and events.”

Rikuo nodded slowly. Nobody had quite explained it that way, but it made a lot of sense. Everything seemed to indicate that the existence of yōkai was somehow, intrinsically, tied to that of humans. (Which made it seem _even more ridiculous_ that yōkai insisted on brushing humanity aside).

“While it is true that yōkai can exist independently of the degree to which humans fear them, it requires a significant amount of will to do so in the face of a complete lack of belief. And those yōkai born of humans are much more commonly tied to specific places and times, so it is far easier for them to fade from mind once those times and places have slipped from their relevancy.” Something almost mournful entered Gyūki’s expression. “When they are forgotten, those who hold longing for their lost humanity find it easy to cease fighting.”

The early morning sunlight bathed the room in a pale golden hue, casting soft shadows across the old yōkai’s face. Rikuo stared. “That… I wish I could say that was just bias speaking, but it makes a lot of sense. Kejōrō’s mentioned missing being human a couple times, and even though Kubinashi _says_ he doesn’t want to think about that part of his life—” There were still moments, eating lunch together with the Kiyojūji Patrol or puzzling through middle school mathematics under Wakana’s guidance, where the neckless yōkai’s face would light up and soften. Settle, in a way that seemed just a little more comfortable than usual. Just a little less guarded.

Gyūki tilted his chin in the facsimile of a nod. “His loyalty is unquestionable, but his sentimentality is a significant weakness.”

It felt weird, to think of something so intrinsic to life as a weak spot. However, Rikuo could sort of understand where the perspective was coming from — sentimentality brought down peoples’ guards, left them open to things that hurt them in more ways than just the physical. And it wasn’t as though Gyūki was entirely wrong, really. Kubinashi’s behavior could sometimes be erratic, just as it had been on the mountain — when his judgement was impaired by his concern.

They still hadn’t talked about what occurred. At this point, Rikuo wasn’t entirely sure they would even be able to.

He didn’t want to linger on the subject, though, so he took another slow sip of tea before posing a new question. “In the instructions you gave Kyūso, was—” Gyūki raised a single eyebrow, and he took a moment to reorganize his words, “—one of the things he demanded I do was _‘give up my claim of being a boy’_. I want to know if that was something you ordered him to do.”

Amber eyes studied him, inscrutable and deep. “The only instructions I gave were to force you into a situation of accepting the ultimatum regarding your claim on the position of Third.”

“So his demands, those threats about— those were just him.”

“It was his way.” Gyūki’s low voice seemed to echo oddly in the space of the room. “Animalistic yōkai are inclined towards animalistic behaviors. It was not my place to dictate or pass judgement on his means toward the instructed ends. And as the future Commander of this clan, it should not be yours either.”

Funny, how they still came back to this argument again.

Draining the last of his tea, Rikuo sighed and put both empty cups on the tray they’d been brought in on, lifting it carefully in his good hand as he pushed himself to his feet. “And that’s your right, as a yōkai. You all— _we_ all engage in our own evils and injustices, whether in the past or the present. But as both the future Commander of this clan, and a representative of humanity within our society, it is my duty to guide us in new directions.” As he made his way across the room to the door, Gyūki’s eyes followed. He nudged it open with one foot and paused, turning to look back. At this point, he either had the old yōkai’s support or he didn’t, so making one last thing clear wouldn’t change anything. And if Gyūki was in his corner after all, it was best to be entirely upfront about the future he was paving for his ( _their_ ) family.

“Like I said, times have changed. It’s a new millennium. Humanity has grown and changed, and it’s about time we did to. I am going to make that happen, Third or not. My blood may be awakened, but it beats for humans and yōkai alike, and I am prepared to do everything within my power to protect and strengthen them both.”

He met Gyūki’s gaze, and hoped the challenge was clear enough to hide the uncertainty behind it.

“As long as I live, I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another chapter! Originally I was going to have this fight in the last chapter, hence why the update was so quick (for me lol). I'm not entirely sure how I feel about how it's written, since I did have to tweak some of the motivations based on how this AU has rippled, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> This chapter concludes the Gyūki arc. By the approximate timeline I've pieced together, the next canon event is Kana's encounter with Ungaikyō on her 13th birthday. Since her birthday is in late June, and the Gyūki arc took place during Golden Week (late April/early May), I'm probably going to do somewhere around 1-3 filler chapters to bridge the gap between those events. There will definitely be a section each focusing on the Nura clan and the Kiyojūji squad, but if there's anything in particular you all would like to see come up (school shenanigans! another house visit! going out for karaoke! Kubinashi's birthday! prank wars!), please let me know in the comments!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does not have an update schedule, so please be patient when waiting for new material. Additionally, I do not have a beta reader, and as such would appreciate patience and understanding with any grammatical/stylistic errors in the writing. <3
> 
> If you like it, please comment! It makes this humble author very happy, and inspires me to continue writing!
> 
>   **Edit: Previously, I'd asked for shipping suggestions. At this point in time, I'm going to retract that (people weren't sending in many anyways, so no hard loss) and just add a simple reminder that shipping will not come into play for a while yet. I have a personal preference for non-sexual, non-romantic types of intimacy, and as such those will be the more prominent relationship types in this fic for the most part. If that's disappointing to you, I'm really sorry.**
> 
>   _(P.S. — there actually is one established relationship already in the fic. Those who have read some of my other Nura fics may be able to tell what it is. It will become more prominent later on, I promise.)_


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